The Sphere
by Just The Marionettenspieler
Summary: This is a translation of "the Sphere" – a Nasuverse fanfiction (original story was in Russian). For more information (and the synopsis) - look at the chapter named "Translators Notes". Warning: tags have "Fate / Stay Night" because now we don't have a general "Nasuverse" category. This story is not about Holy Grail Wars, characters of F\Z or FSN just mentioned here sometimes.
1. FAQ AND TRANSLATOR'S NOTES

Small FAQ and translator's notes.

1\. WTF is this?

A translation of "the Sphere" – a Nasuverse fanfiction.

2\. What's the original language?

Russian. 3 chapters out of 12 are complete, #4 is in TC (on 29. 03. 2015). The time it takes to translate one chapter is roughly 3-5 days, but since we're running on sheer enthusiasm and an occasional pinch of cocaine, you can expect an update every two months or so.

3\. What's this all about?

The one initiated in the Eighth Sacrament shall be absolved no matter how dire his sins are. Any bloodshed, committed in the name of God is forgiven. But of course there is a price for everything. Father Katt Ascol, who was an old executor of the Holy Church, whose way in life was determined the moment he was born. He was to serve the House of Slaughter. Surely, he didn't expect to live out his days in piece, ever since his forced retirement. But among all the people, whose lives were broken by his hand, he never expected that particular person to come back and steal his peace…

4\. What we DON'T have:

No Holy Grail Wars and anything related to them, since we believe HGW is a bloody reality-show for wealthy snobs, wide-eyed idealists, and those crippled by intense mental strain on the fields of internet flamewars. Leave it be. Seriously. Sarcasm mode off.

No detailed explanations about who are "Dead Apostles", how "magic circuits" work, importance of family in the magic business and why everyone is so worked up about getting that "magic crest" and who the hell is "the Serpent of Akasha". All of this you can find on Type-Moon Wiki, in the official VN's and light novels.

And last, but not least, we have absolutely NO heroes and generally likable people, who are bound to save the world and get a girl. You'll hate everyone.

5\. What we have:

Pain, suffering and lots of innocent blood. Scumbag mages and fanatical Church agents. Demon hybrids and Apostles, for those, who want even more. Everyone here tries to survive to see another day and solve their miserable problems in their own, dirty… I mean different ways.

6\. Are there any characters from the Nasuverse canon?

Aozaki Touko, Ciel and Narbareck make their guest appearances in this novel. There are others, but we won't spoil it any further.

7\. When is it all happening?

1993.

8\. Is there a sequel?

The second part of the intended trilogy of Father Ascol's misadventures is the prequel and goes by the name "Blizzard". As of yet none dares to begin it's translation, and besides, there are only 4 chapters and an interlude done as of this moment.

9\. What is "The House of Slaughter"?

TM-wiki, being what it is, didn't bother to translate the Japanese "Shura" which is exactly "Slaughter". And so they left the executor agency under that name.

10.

Hereth be the translator's notes on the names and aliases of certain characters, especially those who gave us a major headache when translating from Russian.

The first one would be Albert – the Hollow – Blach.

So why "the Hollow"? The backstory on Albert tells how a promising child in a powerful mage family one day lost all his powers in an attempt to use way more power than he was capable of. Hence, we considered the following names: Burnout, Dummy, Empty, Hollow and Husk. The last one was also a part of a wordplay in Russian, and therefore stuck with us for a long time. Nevertheless, after a careful deliberation and a few broken bones we settled on the name "Hollow".

The second one is Renier – the Shard.

Some say his name in Russian has nothing to do with any "shards".

Others tell that a touch of poetic wordplay is vital when dealing with character names.

Suffice it to say that his unique abilities, peculiar backstory and, of course, his personality all left me with a single word for him to go under and it was "Shard".


	2. Chapter 0 - Prologue

**The ****Sphere****.**

But the Lord said to him "Not so;

anyone who kills Cain will suffer

vengeance seven times over."

Then the Lord put a mark on Cain

so that no one who found him would kill him.

(Gen. 4:15)

**Prologue.**

The knife was approaching.

-No, it's useless. He's been stuck there for two days already.

The pain was like in hell itself. Worse than that were only those damned voices from the corridor.

They distracted him.

Distracted when he had to SEE.

He had to do everything FLAWLESSLY.

Every damn cut needs to be done with surgical precision.

-You don't say…

\- Albert! Albert! Are you asleep there already or what?

The knife pierced the tortured flesh yet again.

This night has been far too long.

It seemed to drag on for all eternity.

-You'll sleep through your whole life you fool! You've heard the news, right?

Those fools. Pathetic fools, ever-busy with their petty schemes, like vermin no less. How disgusting it is to realize that even here, in the Sea of Astray, they won't leave him alone with their new from the mainland…

He has nowhere to hide from the world.

Only anger surpassed his pain. That… that trash dares to call itself a Magus. His noble ancestors would spin in their coffins if they were to know, what peasants defile the Art with their dirty hands nowadays.

Still, the last generation of his family wasn't really all that different in terms of manners…

Recalling his family, he felt such a black suffocating hatred, that nearly bit the rag in two.

-Whatever, - _sigh_. – Stay there all you like.

The steps disappeared in the distance.

At last.

A new cut. Warm red stream touches the floor. The rag in his mouth clenched with renewed strength.

The most difficult part was the last limb. According to the advice from the book and his own sense, he left the arms for the last.

It was incredibly hard – cutting his last untouched limb with an already maimed arm. Bloodied, crooked, it was leaking more and more red, rapidly going numb and unresponsive. However, _this_ could only be done all at once. Otherwise it would all have been in vain and he will simply die of blood loss.

A torn paper with the Scheme was laid upon the open book. A book, which was quite well known amongst regular people, perhaps even too much, one would say. To see such book in a magus' workshop was amusing, ridiculous even, especially so when the said mage had taken a refuge in the cold and indifferent Wandering Tomb.

And yet he'd never make it this far without it. In fact, it gave him far more, than all the arcane grimoires and metaphysical works on the Art.

It gave him an Idea.

The lighting in his closet was very poor, but with some effort, one could still read the book. Even though the Scheme was already imprinted in his mind, he cast one more glance upon it, then looked through the pages and returned to his work.

The knife slowly slid forwards. Just a little more.

Now all he needed was the words.

He felt nauseous, hand trembling. In a few moments he will collapse… should have tied himself to the chair.

No, that way the ropes would tear into the Pattern carved upon his flesh. The Pattern must not be defiled before it is finished.

Indeed, one can only touch the Pattern with a blade.

His teeth unclenched, his spasmed face convulsed even further, his lips spat out the rag.

He only needed one word.

His pale lips twitched.

-…accept.

The knife finished the Pattern and fell out of his weak fingers.

It's owner followed it shortly. His naked and bloodied body curled up on the cold stone floor.

He was dying.

He was smiling.

He'd laugh if he had any strength left.

-I accept. – he repeated, his body curled up in fetal position basked in the spreading warmth. – Accept, accept, accept.

He made it.

He knew the price, it was high – enough so that he will pay it for all eternity.

Yet he smiled with triumph.

Because that moment his time was just beginning…


	3. Chapter 1

**Chapter**** 1\. ****Ascol****.**

_My name is Holocaust_ _  
Their name is Legion_ _  
They love the death so much_ _  
They like to watch_ _  
The heavens and the flame._

(Louna – Burned Alive). 

He knew they'd come for him some day.

All those six long years he knew.

Standing on his knees near the first row of the lousy benches and pretending to pray, he waited for his eyes to accustom to the darkness.

At least they are not doing it in broad daylight.

Some part of him didn't even want to resist. It was inevitable, after all. Nobody can run and hide forever.

The door creaked. Two pairs of feet shambled towards him.

They didn't even try and mask their presence. Why bother? Long six years passed and they knew that each year made him weaker. They had no reason to hurry…

-Father Katt. – Someone said with a horrible accent.

He hesitated for a few more precious seconds, unable to decide.

One more little step.

His patience has run thin and all the doubts receded.

The first Key penetrated the wall with a deafening clang, precisely at the spot where the tall figure in purple clothes stood some half a second ago. The second guest managed to push his comrade to the floor at the last moment and then opened fire from his laughably small silenced pistol.

The gunman was obviously afraid of damaging the altar, standing in the twilight. That fear could be exploited. Ascol's hand flashed with unbearable pain as its owner summoned his old power. That pain was something akin to a protest of a tired human body – a protest against something that was waking up after six years of slumber. Against the old power he hoped never to use again. A short blade grew on the hilt he took from the folds of his robe a couple of seconds ago.

Just in time – the gunman was busy reloading his pathetic pistol after emptying the whole clip in a few moments. A thin silvery beam, gleaming in the darkness, relieved the assassin of his pea-shooter. The broken pistol fell to the ground along with the severed fingers of it's owner. A barely contained scream pierced the night. Ascol was ready to end it with his last Key – which meant he'd have to snap the other assailant's neck with his bare hands. The shooter retreated, wobbling, raising both his hands and muttering something under his nose: even if the maimed fingers on his right hand only dripped blood, his left palm weaved a flickering violet pattern seething with menace.

The last Key left it's master's hand.

The mage's whisper turned into a deafening roar, however it didn't help him one bit – the last words of his spell drowned in hoarse gurgling. Ascol was a far away by the time the sound of his foe's body crashing against the floor reached him – he preferred retreat to engaging the third attacker after his last Key was used up.

He knew these narrow corridors like the back of his palm. He also knew that a car is waiting for him at the rear exit…

He heard screams behind him, roaring engines and clanking armor suits outside.

Too bad. Seems like they are serious this time.

Thoughts raced in his head, one after another. What the hell? If they bothered to gather that many people, why send those amateurs against him?

Ascol grinned as the answer came to him: the relationship between his brass and that of the Association haven't changed during the last six years. It was crystal clear if you suppose it was a joint operation of two equally monstrous organizations, ready to tear at each other's throats. Association must have sent some greenhorns as spectators, thinking they won't have to engage in fight. Ascol should have been served to them on a silver plate, thoroughly trashed by a squad of knights. And same as always, those arrogant mages were easily tricked into believing that their opponent is weak enough even for them to take down. Who know, they even may have volunteered – after all capturing a living legend such as Ascol would catapult them through the ranks of hierarchy. Whatever their motives, they had it coming.

The door and the promise of freedom were so near he could feel it. Keys glinted in his hands.

They won't catch up to him. They'd never catch up.

The door swung open. Chilling wind blew in Ascol's face…

And the light of a dozen headlights.

Ascol blinked for a while – there was obviously nowhere to hurry now – and counted four old all-purpose army transporters as well as more than a dozen people in old army uniforms. They were armed heavily enough to instill a certain respect. A couple more walked towards him. One of them was a lean grunt, packed in a full armor suit – unfortunately Ascol couldn't see the crest on his breastplate because of the blinding light. Yet it wasn't the grunt, that scared him. It was the second one – a little man about 50 years old by the looks of his partially gray hair. He was three inches lower than the grunt and had a tired wrinkled face. His eyes were like two holes into the emptiness of the Universe and his lips were twisted with irritation.

-Julian? – Ascol tried to hide his surprise.

The old man just spat angrily and turned to the giant, who stood next to him.

-His Eminence Julian Vert, if you don't mind. – the little man said those words with palpable delight, enjoying Ascol's reaction.

-No... – Ascol backed down, pressing his back against the wall. – You couldn't…

It was terrible. It… damn, it just couldn't be true. Because if he really managed to get a hold of the title of Cardinal, it means…

-Yes, Ascol. – The small man grinned. – The House of Slaughter belongs to me now. Take this putrid trash down, corporal.

The knight of Church stepped forward, armor clanking. Ascol knew numerous ways to defend himself against such grunt, but it was what Julian said that rung loud in his ears, robbed him of hope, broke his will to fight.

_ The House of Slaughter belongs to me now._

Julian the Raving achieved his goal at long last and Katt Ascol felt personally responsible for that. He ran away, leaving Julian's way up clear and free. He stopped being a problem…

Raising his eyes, Ascol tried to catch the knight's gaze through his visor. Tried to find something besides dull obedience in those eyes.

_The House of Slaughter belongs to me now._

It was all over. It's all meaningless now.

Armored fist crushed his stomach, but the knight thought it was not enough – he followed up with a kick to the shin. The last accord was an elbow to the chin. After another indifferent kick to the body on the wet grass, he walked away.

-He's ready. Load'em up.

-What about that idiot from the Tomb?

-They'll patch'em up.

-Oh really? He had his bowels spooled on that damned pike!

-They will.

-Did you have to send him ahead?

-Yes. He was too insolent and I don't like insolent people. – said Julian. – And people I don't like tend not to stay alive very long. 

* * *

A dirty and smoky small flat. Windows covered with heavy sullied drapes, swaying slightly in the draft. Julian decided against using the ceiling lights and used a small lamp. His men seated Ascol by the table, at first trying to handcuff him to the flimsy chair, but after Julian gave them a disapproving look, they removed the cuffs and left the room. Ascol immediately started massaging his numb hands and his face returned a defiant smug Julian knew and hated so much.

-Cavaillon. Was it necessary to crawl that far? – Julian's long withered fingers hammered upon the table surface which was long since clean or smooth. – Might as well run all the way to the northern pole. I have a tight schedule, you know. Had to put on a damn show to get out here for a couple days.

-Didn't look like you were in a hurry. – said Ascol in a rasped voice. – I expected you to show up in a year or two, not six. Of course I understand you have lots of work. Oh, and your preparations were shitty as always. To throw just two mages at me is borderline insult.

Peering into Julian's dull angry face, covered in pink scars, Ascol noticed he's got a second chin and his dreadful eyes under the heavy gray brows were darker than usual.

Julian Vert intimidated or bribed everybody in Vatican, who stood in his path to the seat of power. And still, the department he desired most was beyond his reach.

Until now.

Now, if only this monster wasn't lying (which he wasn't – Ascol already noticed the Cardinal's signet ring on his finger) even that bastion fell before his feet.

-Thank your friends from the Assembly. – rasped Julian. – If not for them, I'd make sure you rot there and then.

-Well be it my will, you'd be dead even earlier. – replied Ascol. – There's no single other thing in my life I regret more than rescuing you on that day.

-You've ruined the whole operation.

-It was doomed to failure from the start, you know. It was planned by a clinical idiot.

The third man, sitting in the corner laughed quietly and covered his mouth with a sleeve. Tall, but none too handsome, with a clean shave and dusky skin, his hair was dark dirty color, his bilges were sharp. There was something resembling a thick white pencil, yet obviously not one. At some point it clicked and ejected a long sharp needle.

-Not here, Coss. – Julian's face wrinkled.

-Why do you care? – Coss dragged, stretching himself.

Ascol gazed at the embroidery at his sleeve, recognizing the symbol of the most cursed branch of the mages' Association – the Atlas Academy, lost somewhere in Egyptian sands. That moment the mental picture he placed together with such effort crumbled before his eyes.

He perfectly understood what his formed colleagues wanted from him. The fact than there was a mage from the Wandering Tomb in the capture team, the one who got skewered on Ascol's Keys, was suspicious. The other suspicious detail was that there happened to be an awful lot of trained knights, tasked with bringing down a single old fool. And now Atlas. But even more interesting was that Ascol was still alive and the another living legend, Julian the Raving was sitting across from him at the table and, while certainly most displeased and cursing all along, it didn't seem like Julian is going to kill him just yet. Ascol was brought along alive, so there's something they need him for. And that alone gives him a leeway to bargain. As for that, Ascol had no intention to sell himself cheap.

-Hope you forgive me for not wanting to recall the good old days. – said Ascol. – So why did you need me all of a sudden?

-Why do you think we need you? – Julian replied angrily.

-Because I still lack extra holes in my skull.

-That can be rectified.

-But you won't. You're not allowed to. – Ascol took a calculated risk.

-The time when someone could not allow me to do something has passed. – Julian replied immediately. – Now everyone dances to my tune, Katt. Guess I could stop wasting my time with you, considering that's one thing that I consistently lack. But to miss your detention – oh I'd never do that. Years passed while I brought down everyone who covered you. I made them my allies, my pawns. To tell the truth, they asked me to leave you alone, they pleaded all the time and I have to admit – I honored their wishes. But now…

Julian fell silent as if he struggled with words. It was obviously hard for him to discuss the true reason for this meeting.

What could have happened?

-If you want to know, we really can kill you here and now. Just like that. And get rid of all the evidence. And you know how glad I'd be to give that order. But we shall only do so if you refuse to cooperate.

-Aw, you know, I was always good with negotiations. – Ascol tried to smile with his bruised lips. – Maybe we'll come to an agreement? But you have already lowered your odds, didn't you? I'm a lot more willing to talk when people are not trying to beat the shit out of me.

-Insolent as always I see. – said Julian in a tired voice. – Regardless, let's get to business. As you probably know, you were captured by…

-Can I have my cigarettes back?

-No. I hate smoke.

-And I hate your guts, but I bear with it. Give me my smokes or tell your stories to the wall over there.

-Hope you choke on it. – Ascol caught a wrinkled pack before it hit his face.

-So he gets away with it, but not me?! – Coss jumped on his seat. – To hell with you.

-Don't you dare…-began Julian, but the alchemist had already jerked his sleeve up and stabbed his throbbing arm with a needle.

-He does that every few hours. – dragged Julian, his face distorted with anger and disgust. – I thought none can beat this filthy sight, but I was wrong, Katt. You're worse in every aspect.

-I'm always in the lead, huh. – Ascol exhaled smoke and dropped the matches on the table.

-You were in the lead some day long ago. – Julian lightly clapped his palm on the table. – Ninety-Seventies, maybe. Now you're only an old degraded alcoholic. You are a wreck. And don't give me those eyes, please. I had you under surveillance for a few years now. What? Did you seriously believe that we can't reach you?

-But…

-We really didn't have time to spare for the likes of you. I had my hands full in the Vatican. Even with all the surveillance I started forgetting about you after a while. I'd forget about you completely, but a little while back they told me someone among the top brass wants you.

-What for?

-Well we had an… incident. – Julian answered after a short moment of silence. – Which was followed by an order from the top, reading "bring that fucker Katt Ascol in immediately and break him a couple of bones if you really have to". Of course, the said order came through me and I just couldn't help but participate.

-So what exactly happened that you need help from an old alcoholic wreck with no farts left to spare? – Ascol burst into a fit of cough. – And do me a favor, don't play dumb. You can't be oblivious to what's happening, especially when something dirty is concerned. And this is exactly the case.

-Coss. Enlighten him.

-Whatever you say. – the alchemist clicked his "pencil" once more, sheathing the needle back inside and tried to focus his eyes on Ascol. – You see, we have a very delicate situation here…

-Get to the point. – Ascol answered with the anger in his voice.

-We need to neutralize an extremely dangerous subject. – Coss spoke very slowly, dragging out every word.

-And how does it concern us?

-As I've said, the situation is delicate. – Coss continued. – There is a number of reasons why the Association cannot deal with this problem, at least for now. But the clock is ticking for both our organizations.

-I'll ask you differently. How does that concern me? – Ascol put his elbows on the table, leaned forward and stared into Julian's dreadful eyes. – You have nothing that would make me want to go back.

-I'm afraid you're gravely mistaken. – Julian smiled. – We have a wide array of coercion methods, some of which are unknown even to you.

-Am I expected to be afraid now?

-Have you ever been tortured? – asked Coss.

-Indeed I have, and by far worse scumbags that His Eminence. Tortured, interrogated… - Ascol sighed. – So will anyone tell me already why did you have to tie me up?

-Not today. – answered Julian after a second or two. – Probably tomorrow, if we get there in time…

-Where are we going?

-Where do you think? – Julian grinned again. – You probably still don't realize how bad your situation is. People are taking interest in you. People above my station, far beyond what you can imagine… Regrettably, even I don't have all the information; however I suppose it concerns some old business of yours. Then, after your usefulness is depleted, we can finish you off. Don't you worry though, we still remember your past services, so it will be clean and quick.

-How generous of you. – Ascol took another cigarette from the pack. – I assume it's not an offer one can refuse, is it?

-You understand me perfectly. – Julian stretched his fingers with a creak. – You will go with us, tell us all you are asked about and you won't lie. If you don't cooperate our corporal Andrie, whom you already know, will break you something. Oh and I almost forgot… Coss?

-Should be right about now. – the alchemist looked at his watch. – Father Katt, how do you feel? Nauseous, maybe? Head spinning?

-What…

Coss raised from his seat and took a used syringe from his pocket.

-I gave you a shot of my special something. – He said.

-Poison? – wheezed Ascol. – That's your style, Julian.

-No, it's not. – He smirked. – You see, we can't let you into the Vatican looking so miserable. I mean just look at yourself, Katt, you look absolutely disgusting.

-Speak for yourself.

-I injected you with my latest brainchild. – said Coss. – It will flush your system of all the shit you've been torturing it with for the last six years. Or at least it will try too. In all honesty, I've never used it on human subjects, so your input would be welcome.

Ascol tried to respond in kind, but he couldn't: seizures struck him. He tried to hold on to the table, but lost his balance and fell to the floor. His whole body burned from inside.

And the he started vomiting.

-I think we can come by in about half an hour. – Coss said indifferently looking at the man, writhing on the floor. – He is going to leak filth, which is not a pleasant sight as you can understand. Let's get him afterwards… assuming he survives the process, of course.

The chair creaked at the push. Ascol choked on his bile, blood and what was left of his meager dinner. He stretched out his crooked arm, trying to crawl away, but Julian stepped on it with his heavy boot and crushed it under his heel, smiling.

-I told you you'd pay your debts. Consider this your first reimbursement.

Julian picked up his robes squeamishly, trying not to soil them, and left the room. 

* * *

Katt Ascol assumed the position of the full executor at the age of twenty two years. Now, he was already past forty, but regardless of his age, he always realized that he had no say in the matter since birth. He couldn't wish for anyone to be born in a family, initiated in the Eighth Sacrament, because nobody deserves such a gruesome fate.

And still, someone has to do it. He was told so on numerous occasions. Later he learned to tell the very same thing himself – this time to the other people like him, those who shouldn't have existed. The ones welcomed by the House of Slaughter.

Officially, they didn't even exist. Unofficially – that department didn't even have a name to hide under, like the Inquisition once did, fading into shadows under an extremely vague term, the "Congregation for Doctrine of Faith". It was there, where Julian Vert originated from, later notoriously known as Julian the Raving. An alias few dared to speak aloud. Ascol was once one such man.

Some day…

Indeed, he was once an exemplar to aspire to. He was a perfectly greased cogwheel in a complex machine, doing his dirty, bloody, yet surprisingly holy work. Because someone has to do it…

From an outsider's point of view, there were barely any differences between Julian and Ascol. Especially so, if one would compare them now – after an exhausting flight and equally exhausting grooming and licking into shape – for Ascol that is. Julian was already in full dress, wearing his crimson mantle, which made him look even sillier than usual in Ascol's eyes. Katt himself put on what was brought to him by his escorts. It was a dark suit, silk shirt with a choker and squeaky clean shoes. Of course, they gave him time to take a bath and see a barber – even thought he was watched at every step by his omnipresent corporal Andrie. It goes without saying that his broken fingers were healed – quite early after the incident in fact, when they were still in France. Now Ascol saw a tall, slim and confident man in the mirror. His eyes were alive with intense awareness and his face was hard and flawlessly shaved. He didn't have much in common with the Vatican clerks, who preferred gray colors. He didn't look like a member of aristocracy either – there weren't any symbols of high station on his person: neither a cross, nor a signet ring. But an uneducated onlooker would not spot many differences between Katt and Julian, even though in reality, they were quite significant.

Julian Vert avoided personally engaging in bloodshed. The scars on his face remained from an old assassination attempt. The attempt to get rid of this meddlesome person failed miserably mainly because the killer was barely prepared. Nowadays, however, Julian was well protected in all aspects. Being a duke of the Church, he could not be removed from his office by any means short of death. He was supported by the Pope and owned him his position. Julian was a citizen of the smallest, yet a very powerful state. He belonged to the most rigid branch of his organization and, as many have heard, was delighted to bring out the most terrifying tools of torture mankind ever knew. That being said, he was capable of shutting people up without a drop of blood spilt, which made him a valued and respected member of his rank. His authority was supported by the ruthlessness and urgency he showed in his work. Indeed, the Inquisition was now hidden and no witches were burned at stakes, but Julian was resourceful nonetheless. Intellectual discrediting, excommunication… he had no shortage of ways to make his targets suffer. He became a master in the art of victimizing, besmirching people. Vert was formidable as ever, no need for the bonfires. Ascol had vivid memories of the people who fought the corruption in Vatican a little too eagerly and risked uncovering terrifying truths about the vast money sinks and the projects they fed. Such people were quickly kicked out from their offices, no matter how high. He remembered a clueless bank CEO, who uncovered some such things and committed suicide just three days after being introduced to all the compromising material Julian had on him. He remembered priests, who protested against Vatican policies. Vert managed to bring out to the light every their mistake, each transgression, no matter how petty and small. He drove them to despair. Those, who didn't personally earn Julian's ire, were stripped of their rank and excommunicated, but if someone caused problems, didn't cooperate or simply had resilience to stand up to his usual methods – such people were treated much more harshly. Death squadrons excellently knew their work – a person who crossed Julian's way would usually end up in a roadside ditch, with a bullet in the head. Vert's alias was indeed well-earned.

There was nothing surprising with the fact that such a man was initiated in the Eighth Sacrament, the darker side of the Church. Nor was it strange that even there he managed to get his greedy hands on whatever could be deemed useful. The House of Slaughter, created by the collective efforts of one hundred and twenty cardinals, proved a powerful tool in Julian's hands on his way to the seat of power. Of course, he probably wouldn't reach the _papabili_ title, no matter how steady his career was, but even having the executor department at his side was a significant achievement. In due time it might allow him to seize the control over the most monstrous Church's department – the Burial Agency. However, to this day, none could muster enough power in the hierarchy to take it under personal control. But what if he could succeed? If one could imagine it for a brief moment – Julian the Raving, ruling over this den of sin – it would mean he has the entirety of the Church in his hands. Would he risk it turning his gaze to it in the future? The moment Ascol heard about the new head of the House of Slaughter, he never doubted it. Julian Vert will risk everything to get there.

Julian the Raving was a dark living legend – Katt Ascol was no different in his time. His hands were dripping blood after the infamous "Blizzard" operation, which spelled the abrupt end of his career. Julian, who was overseeing that operation was only probing his ground, carefully searching for ways to topple the lords of the House of Slaughter. Ascol could erase Julian from the face of Earth once and for all that day, yet chose to save him from almost inevitable death. Saved only to be backstabbed in return. The operation was a failure indeed, but not because of the one who was chosen as a scapegoat. Ascol had to go into hiding, into the exile – and even that miserable fate was better than what would have happened, if not for the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. They would probably simply dispose of him the quickest possible way.

In the end all he got was a brief respite and now he was hastily fixed and dragged to meet his fate.

The House of Slaughter had no clear duty segregation. The person, who attained the rank of executor was by definition able to vanquish any abomination or, at the very least, engage it with some chance of victory. Nevertheless, there were some specializations: some showed more talent in eradication of the vampire kind, some hardened their souls enough to exorcise demons, others were a bane of mages…

Father Katt Ascol belonged to the last group. His hands were soaked with blood, but it mostly belonged to the once-noble progenies of the magus dynasties, who slipped on their treacherous way. Life of a magus was a hard one and Ascol would never call it pleasant or happy after learning all they have to go through. Not even close. Life of magecraft was a never-ending struggle for power and the knowledge, which could grant the said power. A struggle like that had no forbidden tricks as long as it was safely hidden away from the eyes of the mundane folk. It was a cruel game, which one had to play simply by the virtue of having been born with an abominable body. Katt Ascol had seen enough to tell the fundamental difference between the magus and the human. He saw the rituals designed to end the world or worse. He saw the old documents, describing the "Holy Grail wars" – complex rituals performed by power-hungry mages. The mad and raving, dancing around the fabled diabolical wish-granting device. He saw what inhuman experiments were performed on the mundane folk – just abundant cattle in the eyes of a typical magus. Ascol saw brothers and sisters eagerly murdering each other to earn the right of attaining the family's magic crest, which holds the collective memories and experience of its past owners. Katt remembered the parents, praising the opportunity to vivisect their children and study the anomalies in the Magic Circuitry growth. He both saw how they summoned horrors from Beyond and knew what it took to send those horrors back. Saw far too much to keep his faith, but thankfully not quite enough to lose it completely. Katt knew his mission well. Life of a mage was a never-ending struggle, they were always hanging in the balance on a razor's edge. A mage is ready to die since childhood – and those who were too reckless to keep in line were picked off quick and clean by Katt Ascol and his colleagues – the ones whose job was to burn away most wretched and dangerous outcasts, carrying magic circuits in their bodies. They were ready to tear apart anyone the top brass deemed dangerous.

Some of his peers thought themselves saint, others were zealous fanatics. Katt was neither and, as he often joked, if he happened to be a knight, his shield would bear "For the people and a nice salary" motto. After all, he never had a say in the matter. Someone has to do it after all. 

* * *

Julian, Ascol and Coss arrived at the Apostles Palace on the brand new limo with Vert's personal driver. The addict magus took a seat between Katt and Julian, as if fearing they'd rip each other's throats given chance, so he gave them both a mutual target to hate - himself. It was a wise decision on his part as the Atlas academy was, no matter how special it's standing with the Church, an easy and convenient target to hate. The guards saw Vert's glum face and saluted with their halberds while he strolled past, not even bothering to look back. Coss and Ascol were not as welcome here: the guards followed them both with a wary look. Katt was seriously surprised to know that the mage was going to participate in the coming audience with the top brass. That fact itself was enough to keep him on the edge.

What could happen for a magus – from the Atlas academy no less, damn it – to be invited to a meeting of such a high level? What calamity made the Church and the Association join their forces officially and not just for a single joint bloodbath?

The meeting was appointed for half past six in the morning, but the clock showed 5:20 a.m. – Julian was always a little nervous about being late so he decided to go early. However, there might have been another reason behind this, and Ascol hoped that Vert dragged him here so early to explain the details of the case.

The spacious hall had no lighting besides a window to the garden, which let only pale gray light inside. It was raining outside. Ascol recalled seeing this room once – these bookshelves and those walls and ceiling, painted by some unknown artists…

Besides those who arrived, there were only four people in the hall. Katt recognized only the Archbishop Rayle, whose dribbled and wrinkled face always seemed to form a grimace of boredom and contempt. Such a face was hard to forget after all. The other two were presumably from the Assembly and one of the official departments, which provided the formal cover for the Church's darker side. Julian here was the official representative of both the House of Slaughter and the oldest congregation of roman curia. Coss represented the Atlas academy, obviously…

The fourth person stood near the wall to the left from the Vatican clerks, sitting at the table, his face covered with a cowl.

-Don't you dare utter a single word in English within an earshot from that creature. – Julian whispered to Ascol while passing him by and taking a seat by the table.

The Atlas alchemist dropped casually into the armchair near the wall. Only two people remained standing: Ascol and the one Julian called a "creature".

-We are glad to meet you again, father Katt. – said Rayle in a weak rasping voice. His eyes showed no sign of hospitality though. – Let me introduce you to…

Ascol's hunch proved right – the thin, balding man to the right from Julian was the representative from the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. The other one, who looked weary much like Rayle – was one of the many overseers of the knight orders, whose hideouts were scattered across the whole Europe. When Katt turned his gaze towards the hooded figure, which, as he was told, didn't tolerate any language besides Italian, it moved a little and said:

-_Classe de funerailles, numero de l'agent 7_ _._

At those words Julian made a face, fitting for a man, who just took a bite of a particularly bitter lemon. Others whispered between themselves. Ascol studied the Narbareck's hound with his eyes, realizing how serious his situation is and just how much he underestimated it earlier. Coss said they need to urgently dispose of somebody. But who could it be, to raise the Wandering Tomb, Atlas academy and to make the Vatican request assistance from the Burial Agency?

-Let's get straight to business. – said Rayle while digging through the papers on his desk. – answer our questions quickly and precisely so we can finish the formalities. I have to inform you that in case you refuse to cooperate we are authorized to implement the additional coercion methods up to eighth level of severity. Is that clear?

-Yes. – said Ascol in a tired voice, already remembering how to play that old game, which he went through more than once. – It's just that after the eighth level of coercion I probably won't be able to answer your questions anyway.

-You don't need to say anything besides what's asked of you. – Rayle continued. – So. Father Katt, in early seventies you have been serving in a… special task force, which is currently being overseen by His Eminence Julian Vert…

-Sir, yes sir. – replied Ascol in a cold military tone.

-You had an excellent service record – Rayle mumbled without taking his eyes of the papers. – You took part in the "Blizzard" operation in the ninety eighty seven…

-Yes.

-...under your command the Dogma squad had successfully completed all the main objectives, including the liquidation of the so-called "Leningrad Club" and thus ensured the disruption of their agreement with a group of renegades from the European Association cells. However, when presented with an opportunity to capture the key object…

Ascol clenched his teeth. He knew what would follow.

And he even guessed right almost each word Rayle spit out till the end of his tirade.

-...during the internal investigation it was found out that not only you have given an order to retreat and thus you were found guilty of the loss of the key object, but also you have personally…

-We had zero odds of successful capture. – Ascol spit out words, as if returning to that day six years ago. – The only alternative to retreat was the complete elimination of my squad, including the spectators.

-You have violated the direct order from the operation overseer.

-I have done so in order to save his life.

Julian's face remained opaque as if that phrase wasn't about him.

-I see no reason to dig through the old cases. – He said. – Father Katt was deemed guilty long ago, now we have more pressing concerns at hand…

-Indeed. – Rayle quickly changed the topic. – I will be as explicit as possible, father Katt. The situation we have on our hands, demands desperate measures, including a temporary alliance with the Wandering Tomb research facilities for the purposes of sharing intelligence, as well as request for assistance from the Atlas academy. The Clock Tower seems indifferent to this incident for now, but we have no doubts about London's involvement later.

-May I ask what actually happened? – Ascol exhaled.

-We were challenged, father Katt. A certain… person openly declared a war against the Holy Church in a way we cannot ignore.

-So how was that declaration made?

-During the last two weeks the Church has lost six members of the highest circles, who were involved, one way or the other, with my department. – said Julian in a cold voice. – Each was murdered in an extremely violent way in their own houses. The guards, whenever present, were also annihilated to the last man. Silencing the journalists and stray witnesses is becoming very costly and if the murders are to continue…

-Suspect?

-A mage from the Wandering Tomb. – Coss spoke, startling everyone. – He got his hands on an artifact of colossal power. The very possession of such an item makes him comparable to some of the Twenty Seven. He is a progeny of an ancient European family – this is the main reason the Association still hesitates to issue an elimination order. The other possibility is that they simply cannot believe he is now in the possession of the said artifact. But as soon as London gets the proof, the Clock Tower will make its move.

-The Wandering Tomb is preparing for a global operation. – Julian continued. – They won't leave a single stone unturned in the whole Europe to get at that item…

-...and the desire to acquire the secret of its activation will make them hurry and spill as much blood as necessary. Of course, we are not going to sit idle either. – Coss continued. – That item must end up in Atlas' possession. When the Tower enters the scene, the risk of an open global conflict will become almost certain and, according to our analytical department…

-So you have a psycho mage, who got his hands on some unbelievably dangerous shit, which made his comparable to an Ancestor in terms of power. – said Ascol. – He wasn't afraid to openly go against the Church, as well as to draw attention from each of the three branches of the Association, who also want that trinket so badly they are going to rip each other's throats to have it. His actions will provoke the war within the magus society and compromise the Masquerade on the global level, but even that is of no concern to him. And you don't have a clue as of where he's going to strike next. I have a lot of questions, but the first will be this: how am I personally concerned about this?

-You've met him. – rasped Rayle.

-What? – Katt couldn't hide his surprise. – This is bullshit; I don't know anyone of that level…

-He knows you though. – Rayle threw a photo to Katt. – This is what he left at the last murder scene.

Ascol caught the photo in the air and pierced it with his gaze. Written in blood, how trivial… saw it so many times…

He examined it thoroughly and felt… no, not exactly fear. It was a feeling he got into a very nasty business and couldn't brush it aside.

"WHO IS HOLLOW NOW, FATHER KATT ASCOL?

STOP ME IF YOU CAN"

-God, this is… - Ascol had a nervous fit of laughter. – Wait, it's nonsense! It can't be him!

-Explain yourself immediately, father Katt. – rasped Rayle. – Who left this message?

-Albert Blach. – Ascol exhaled. – Also known as the Hollow Blach. The most worthless magus I've ever known.


	4. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2. The Fall of the House of Blach.**

_I'm the one you never see, in the dead of night,_

_Peeking in your window, staying out of sight,_

_Go to bed, lock the door, don't look in the mirror,_

_What if I was right behind you,_

_Smiling like a killer_

(Motorhead - Smiling Like A Killer)

Caspar Blach took a handkerchief and wiped his face once more. Trying to catch his breath, he looked at the cupboard they hauled into the classroom – it stood slightly out of place. It was a bit too late to push it in place – both Stephan and Carl already ran away and the damn thing is too heavy to move it by himself. To hell with it, he did what was asked of him – now he can go home. It took an hour and a half as it is. Generally nobody cared when he returned home from school, unless it was really late – he's a grown-up after all. Even if his official adulthood would come in the spring, his family had a different outlook on the situation…

He didn't attend to school for the last two months – the official reason for that was severe pneumonia, his family even took time to forge all the necessary documents. Now Caspar thought that real pneumonia wouldn't be such a disgusting and sickening experience as what he had to endure in reality. And that was the transplantation of his father's magic crest, the procedure he was being prepared for since early childhood…

Ever since the day his brother died.

...it was inevitable and definitely unpleasant. Many years his parents fed or injected him various types of alchemical shit that should have reduced the chances of rejection. Nevertheless, they were still high. And much to Caspar's dismay, the procedure had some unwanted complications, which were dealt with over the course of six weeks. At the end of all that torture he acquired the family Magic Crest, which coiled around his arm like a snake. Now he was a full-fledged magus from an old and noble blood line. Caspar couldn't boast about the number of his circuits – he didn't even have the average thirty – and his elemental attunement was nothing special either, just fire. Nobody would be impressed with that for sure. Then again, he never really wanted to stand out from the crowd – why bother? The Clock Tower would grant him everything he deserves to have solely by his birthright. Of course he'd have to leave the mundane world for a very long time and that thought made him sad. Still, Caspar knew that home education would never be enough to strive for something significant or to leave a mark in the history.

Walking outside, Caspar looked at his watch once more. He was indeed late, better hurry. While his human teachers were considerate of his illness and the need to recuperate, he couldn't expect such mercy from Maximillian Blach. His father took Caspar's education very seriously and made every effort not to waste a single minute of his spare time. He understood of course, that his son has the right to take a walk every so often and have a chat with the people he will probably not see in a very long time, but he'd never miss an opportunity to lecture him about what is really important for a mage.

Blach was already going to head for the bus stop when a familiar voice called him. He turned around and tried to come up with a reason why he would need to go home when he saw who it actually was and decided to make an exception. Ellie was some half a year older than him and she was one of those people he was actually going to miss. He liked her, but unfortunately she happened to be born of mundane blood so he always knew how hopeless his feelings were. The thought of it was painful, yet he understood that nothing can be done and didn't even try to get into a relationship, closer then what a magus could afford to have with a human. His family was a dogmatic one through and through – he could never cast his lot even with a magic bearer he had feelings for, let alone a member of mundane folk. For numerous generations all marriages in his family were made only with the thought of improving the bloodline. Sometimes they even employed the services of the families, who made it a business to provide a promising marriage partner for magus bloodlines. Since childhood Caspar knew that the same fate awaits him too and was content with it. He didn't want to complicate his life further by trying to resist. He saw many human girls like her and his feelings faded each time. This one is no different, he told himself – he would forget her as soon as he leaves for London.

-I thought you already left. – He said tiredly. – Did something happen?

-Some loon was looking for you. – Ellie replied. – He almost clawed onto me, imagine that.

-What loon are you talking about?

-I thought you'd know, - she smirked. – Blonde hair, white dandy suit, gloves… a tall, handsome type. Looked at his golden watches all the time, by the way.

-Don't know anyone like that. – Caspar answered, stunted. – Did he mention a reason why he needs me?

-He caught me on the street, asking whether I study here or not. When I said "yes", he started asking about you, sounding so impatient. The man seemed like really interested about how your business is going. Asked if you still live at the old place.

-So did you...

-Yeah I told him your address, so what? You think I shouldn't have?

-Doesn't matter now anyway. – Caspar sighed. – Thanks for the heads-up; I've no idea who was that man...

-Really? – She didn't hold back the laughter. – He seemed strange. Is there something you want to tell me?

-No. – Blach was pissed off. – Thanks again and bye, I'm heading home.

-You look pale… are you alright?

-Yes. Don't worry about me. Here's my bus...

-Wait, I've just remembered something! – Caspar was ready to run for the bus stop, but she stopped him again. – Last thing he said, before heading off… he said…

-What? Sorry, I don't wanna miss the bus, make up your mind quick. – Caspar touched his bag belt nervously.

-He was going away already, but I think I heard him saying "Time to call Abel to the fields". Bullshit, right?

-Sure. – Caspar exhaled, feeling cold sweat on his brow. – See you tomorrow, Ellie. Good luck.

-Hey, what if…

But he wasn't listening to her already. He dashed across the bus stop and into the vehicle, even a little surprised by his swiftness. In the bus, Caspar quickly found a free seat and dropped himself into it.

Keep calm. It's only three stops before his house. He'll get there real fast. Then – tell everything to father, he must now what's happening. Maybe it's simply one of his colleagues from the Association – so what that he doesn't work there for who knows how long – maybe it's…

_It's time to call Abel to the fields. _

What… Who…

His mind was racing, confused, jumping from one thought to another. Caspar paid for his ticked and stared outside, trying to keep the worries out of his head.

One stop was behind him, two more to go… only two more and he's home…

The evening was quiet, too quiet. Caspar suddenly thought he wants to see more people in the streets – if something were to happen, maybe they could…

Dear lord, what is it that can happen? He can defend himself, he's a magus after all, not some sniveling human, why does he shiver like a little kid – just like that one, who just happened to drop his ice-cream on the ground and cries.

And near that kid…

Caspar felt he was about to scream.

A strange man crouched near the kid, giving him a lone banknote. Then, he stood tall and looked at the bus – no exactly at Caspar, whose face was pressed against the window.

He was wearing a perfectly-ironed white suit, black shoes and black tie. A clock chain was hanging from his chest pocket. Blonde hair and pale face with sharp features, somewhat resembling a rat. His thin lips were stretched in a smile, his large eyes…

Even here Caspar could see that his pupils were flickering with strange colors – as if some little sparks were slowly coalescing into a flame. The man's smile grew even wider and he slowly waved his hand to Caspar. His lips moved, but Blach couldn't read what he was saying.

Somewhere ahead the traffic lights turned green and the bus rolled forward, carrying Caspar away as the man in white receded in the distance.

_Home. I wanna go home. Wanna go home. Please, I wanna be home now so bad._

The moment the bus stopped at the Blach household, Caspar rushed out, pushing other passengers aside with his elbows. He made it across the stone-padded walk with a few jumps, ran up a short stairway…

Keys, keys, where are the damn keys?!

The door swung open. His father was standing on the doorstep, dark and brooding as a thundercloud.

-I...

-Get inside, quickly. – Hissed Maximillian Blach. – We don't have much time.

Literally falling in through the doorway, Caspar dropped his bad on the floor and was already going to tell his father about the weird mage who stalked him – the mage who carelessly activated his Mystic Eyes in front of so many potential witnesses – but, looking around he understood that there was something wrong going on in the house regardless of that.

All curtains on the windows were closed, as were the gratings outside. The walls were covered with flickering seals – the kind of magic so powerful Caspar never saw it in action before in his life, he only read about it in the old grimoires. Antiquate knight armor – the six suits that stood in the hallway for a long time – were piled up near the entrance as if those old wrecks were going to defend the mansion. Caspar barely recognized his mother's voice upstairs – she was reciting a long powerful spell in an unnatural cold steely tone. At the same time he heard some growling or bubbling, maybe both…

-Upstairs, now. – Said his father while locking the door.

-What… what's happening?

-No talking! – Maximillian roared in return. – Go to my office, there, on the table you will find a phone number, under the glass… on the left… a piece of paper.

-I don't get it…

-You don't have to. Just do as I say.

There weren't many people who would go and argue with Maximillian Blach, even among those who didn't know about his true nature. To put it simply, he was a massive grunt, whose shoulders were wide enough to nearly rip his suit apart. His sight alone was often enough to make people think twice about crossing his way. He was a dangerous man to underestimate as his huge hands were equally capable of both weaving complex magecraft and snapping somebody's neck. He's rough hair was always cut short and his face was seldom alight with a sincere smile or any other sings of emotions for that part. Now, however, he looked pained and exhausted so much that he didn't even try to hide it.

-Call that number and say that we need help immediately. Then, go to your mother and help her set up the barrier.

Caspar was afraid of his father. But now something horrible was happening, something he didn't understand at all – and that scared him even more. He fully understood what would happen if he were to disobey, but still he stood there like a statue. He just couldn't move a limb.

-For god's sake are you going to stand here like that?! – Elder Blach screamed. – I give you one damn minute to get the hell out of my sight or you will regret it!

Caspar didn't even twitch, frozen with fear. He still could speak, however and didn't hesitate to ask:

-Is it all because of that mage in white?

-Did you see him? Where? Where?! – His dad lifted and shook him in the air like a rag doll. – Where did you see'em? Answer me!

-In the street… when I was riding the bus… he waved hand to me. He had Mystic…

-Bastard. – Maximillian hissed, pushing his son aside. – That little sly peace of shit. Had to finish you off back then…

-Who is he? – Caspar asked, mustering all his courage. – What does he want with us?

-He's your elder brother Albert. – The cold voice of his mother echoed in the room. – And he's here to kill us all. 

* * *

They called him Candle. He had a real name of course – Freri Lann – but he haven't heard that name for a very long time, particularly because everyone who knew it was long dead. Except those the big shots from the Clock Tower, whom he faithfully served some day. Well, he did serve a lot of different people, after all…

His skin had the color of the cheap candle wax. It was even less pleasant to touch – anyone unlucky enough to brush against Freri's skin felt as if he had just touched a toad or a snake – an absolutely disgusting feeling. People didn't like it – people generally dislike things that don't resemble their own kind, especially when such a "thing" has such untouchable skin, watery eyes and light gray hair with a texture of bast. Freri didn't hold a grudge against people. He understood very early that humans are a stupid and cruel kind. And their children are the cruelest. It was them who lobbed stones at little and took out his left eye. The day it happened Freri Lann suddenly understood a few things. He understood, for example, that their skulls are so very fragile and their blood tastes even better than chocolate he once stole from a candy store…

Freri never felt any guilt over what happened. His mother was guilty for not caring about her lovers enough to get tangled up with that… abomination which was his father. She was also guilty, beyond any shadow of doubt, for not disposing of her child, but bringing him into this cruel and uncaring world. He had no place here. But Freri didn't hold a grudge against her either. Not since the day he came back home and found her lifeless body hanging under the ceiling on a washing line. That day he even cried – for the last time in his long, but certainly not a happy life.

-One more cup of tea, please. – Freri curled his lips in a smile, taking care not to show his sharp teeth to the waitress.

The girl nodded and hurried away, trying not to look at Freri's face as he unfolded the map of the Blach mansion before him.

Freri Lann never went on a job without preparation, as he knew that many battles are won long before their beginning, if one has wits to scout ahead and not fuss around. Such attitude saved his skin more than once during the time he worked with the Clock Tower. This was no different: first of all Freri gathered as much information as he could on the target he was going to tail.

The Blach dynasty was ancient, powerful and deeply respected within the Association. They were not an aggressive lot and rarely had the Association worry about them. Nevertheless, if someone were foolish or reckless enough to seriously provoke the Blachs – they always retaliated swift and deadly. Nobody knew the path to the Origin they practiced – the Blach family kept its key research secret. But it was widely known that they also practiced necromancy and had a great mastery in the art of conjuring all sorts of powerful familiars. Blach dynasty was tightly holding on to their roots and it wasn't until very recently that they started to implement modern technology – if only the kind which could assist with their work, so one would be hard-pressed to find anything akin to a TV-set in their house. After thoroughly studying everything he had on the methods Blachs to deal with their foes, Freri once again noted that they are a formidable target which should not be underestimated. What few enemies Blach family did have – mostly those who desired to seize their secrets – lost time after time. Dispatched familiars and assassins didn't return, traps turned on those who set them up… Blachs had a rule to always fight without holding back. They always struck once – no follow-up was necessary.

The Blach Mansion was an old and elegant building. Even though it seemed weathered and shaky, in fact it was a very tough nut to crack. Freri made a few attempts to scout in there, posing as a newspaper delivery boy, then as a postman, and lastly – as a specialist from a phone company. The last visit gave him a perfect opportunity him to install the wiretaps and from then on know everything about their phone calls. Freri learned everything. It wasn't hard to calculate the positions of the most obvious magic traps, thanks to his heightened sense for such things. He also remembered where each window leads and how many exits the building has, including the secret ones. Freri knew which alley is the best to hide in, frequency of the cop patrols in the area and when do the people in the surrounding houses go to sleep and wake up. At night he used sharp-sighted bird familiars, which were hiding in the trees around the mansion.

Freri took his sweet time – his client said he had no need to hurry and otherwise was quite respectful of Freri. Freri was not really respected by anyone since his childhood, so his client's unusual demeanor has earned him a certain measure of trust. Such trust from Lann wasn't easy to earn, not by any stretch of the imagination. Freri didn't hurry, but the scout runs and other preparations were finished yesterday. Today, he studied the map of the Blach mansion for the last time, the one he was drawing the whole night, using his client's knowledge of the house as well as his personal observations from the outside.

-Your tea. – The waitress has put the cup on the table and swiftly hid herself in the service rooms, trying hard not to stare at her silent client.

-Thanks, - Freri mumbled, pointing his finger at the map, lost in thought.

Guest rooms, host bedrooms, a big kitchen, the current family head's office, and a large library – its windows were protected by a fairly modern alarm system without an ounce of magic whatsoever – deep inside the mansion were the laboratory halls and summoning rooms…

-Still busy with your paperwork? – Freri heard a smug voice, to which he still couldn't get quite used to.

Without bothering to ask, Lann's client seated himself across the table and pulled the map towards him.

-Enough, Freri, leave it already. Everything is ready. – He took a watch on a chain out of his pocket, smiling.

-I know. One last overview before we start. – Replied Candle – You know, in case I've forgotten something…

-You know you didn't. – his companion talked in a calming voice. – I think you've learned everything by heart long ago. I think we should seize the moment and relax while we can. Before the blood starts to flow.

-Alright, alright. – Freri sipped some tea. – Where have you been?

-I paid a visit of friendship to my dear brother. I haven't seen him for such a long time…

-So you didn't heed my advice after all. – Freri sighed. – You're complicating my job...

-The whole mansion is on high alert since yesterday anyway. They are reinforcing their defenses so we can't afford to wait any longer - we risk taking on the guys from the Association. We shall make our move tonight. Oh and by the way, that visit was more than necessary, Freri.

-Pray tell me, how so?

-Let them conjure their familiars and lay traps, let them put up barriers and walls. Let them arm themselves to the teeth for all I care. My brother will demand explanations and they will have to provide them. We'll wait till dark, Freri. Let them tell him the truth, infect each other with doubts, fears and mistrust, let those feelings grow and spread. And then, we shall come to kill. 

* * *

The wall clock read 11 p.m. Caspar Blach sat on his bedside, holding head with his hands – he was sitting like that for half an hour already – looking straight at the floor. Only the sound of the clock ticking across from him held his mind in reality. The reality where he was so cruelly deceived.

If it wasn't for mother, who insisted that Caspar has the right to know, his father would, most likely, send him upstairs without telling anything, possibly after a couple of cracks to snap him out of the stupor. That way, he would still be in blissful ignorance about the whole story. He wouldn't know who was coming for his blood. But Maximilian Blach listened to his wife's words and grudgingly told Caspar the truth.

-Albert didn't die that day. – His father's voice was hollow; he struggled to find the words. – He was alive when the executor brought him to me.

-Then why? – Caspar shouted. – Why did you… what did you do to him?

-He overestimated his abilities gravely. He reached out to the power he had no hope of controlling. You see, your brother was a huge coward since the day he was born. He was afraid of everything and everyone, always thought somebody is going to hurt him. Of all the things magic could have given him, he was most interested in defenses and protection techniques. He studied wards, barriers and abjurations of the most powerful and complex kind with utmost fervor. Casting any of them was far beyond him at that time, of course, but he learned the theory behind them through and through.

-I don't understand. What happened that day…?

-When he got into that mess, he thought he'd be killed for sure. He later told me he panicked. And so he tried to weave the strongest shielding spell he knew. You have to understand, that magic – it is beyond capabilities of many mature and experienced magi. And Albert… well, he did have the potential, but it was nowhere near enough by itself.

Maximilian Blach fell silent for a long time. Caspar thought he'd never hear the rest of it, but his mother continued.

-His circuits couldn't take that colossal stress. He burned through the entire lifespan of his magic circuitry in mere seconds. After Albert burned out, he was but a hollow husk.

-Executor, who took him, called and made an appointment. – Maximilian Blach spoke again. – He told me the truth immediately. Magi rarely survive something like that. And those who do – regret it for the remainder of their lives.

-That night you told me he died. – Caspar hissed, feeling ager welling up inside him.

-He did die. Magus Albert Blach was no more. – His father replied coldly. – He was paralyzed, but there was a kind soul among the executors – their healer did all he could. Still… nobody could return what was lost that night, nobody in the whole world. Never again Albert could use magecraft.

-And you threw him out!

-And I was expected to kill him! Murder my own son! – Maximillian Blach screamed, jumping from the coach. – I had to kill, if only to spare him the humiliating, dishonorable fate that has befallen him! It's unthinkable for a mage!

For a moment Caspar thought father would lash out at him. But instead he just wobbled backwards, painfully sighed and sat back.

-I almost did it. – He said. – I've almost worked up the resolve. But Irma wouldn't let me. What could I do? What? How could I look a fellow magus in the eye if they were to know that my son, my successor had become a hollow shell!? A soulless clod, who'd never be able to achieve anything!

-Don't you say such things about him! – Caspar screamed in return.

-I… I almost did it. His father repeated. – Almost, yes. But Irma pleaded for his life… and he as well. He cried every day when I came to his room. He begged me to forgive him.

-So what did you do to him?

-As soon as he could walk, I took advantage of my connections and sent him away. I've sent him to the Sea of Astray, to make sure he stays there forever…

Maximillian Blach fell silent for a while, bracing his heart to continue. Caspar had never seen him like this – for him the figure of his father was an unshakable pillar of solid confidence and personal strength.

-He cried back then too. He knew what kind of life was laying ahead He sobbed, crawling at my feet, asking not to send him to the Wandering Tomb. And I had no choice. None at all. I did it because it was the best thing possible in my position.

-You mean all these years…

-Nobody should have found out about this disgrace. Not even you. – Blach senior once again started walking in circles around the guest room. Now you know it. You may be angry, you can hate me, and you can do whatever you please. I've done what any magus would do in my shoes if he has any dignity. If you to blame me for this, it means you are not worthy of the Blach magic crest. It means you are still a child…

Caspar didn't answer. He had nothing to say… almost nothing.

-Something doesn't add up here. – He said.

-Oh what exactly? – His father growled back.

-You just said he was left with no capacity for magic whatsoever…

-Exactly. The executor, who took him, called him Hollow. As far as I know, somebody at the Wandering Tomb had heard of it and it was stuck to him ever since.

-How do you know?

-I couldn't send him letters after what I've done. But I had a few contacts there and as a gesture of good grace they took it upon themselves to keep an eye on Albert and occasionally sent me a word about how he's doing there.

-If Albert is indeed unable to cast magic, then how do you explain the Mystic Eyes he showed off on the streets? – Caspar asked angrily. – If he is indeed "hollow" as you describe, then why is our whole household turned upside down? What are you afraid of?

-He didn't escape from the Tomb alone. – Senior Blach answered. – He found a way… or some item… I'm not even sure how's that possible, but either he managed to somehow get his powers back, or stole enough artifacts to compensate for his personal lack of magical ability. I've known about his escape for a long time. I knew it and hoped, more than anybody else, that he would be intercepted at the sea. I was wrong. As soon as he reached the land, his trace was lost. But yesterday… last morning he came here.

-What? Here? – Caspar gasped.

-No. I met him after the walk in the park. Well, not exactly met, I guess… he dashed at me in a car, trying to run me over. When it didn't work, he turned tail and fled. I recognized him immediately. You said you saw him today on your way back home…

-Yes. He was stalking me, searching for me. He wanted to tell me something.

-It doesn't matter anymore. – Caspar's father interrupted him. – I do not know, how long did he circle us, waiting to strike, but I'm certain that everything will be decided tonight.

-What… are we going to do?

Caspar knew the answer before his father said anything.

-Albert is a tumor on our family. A tumor we need to cut out.

Caspar Blach rose from his bed and came to the window, going against his father's direct orders. He peered into the night. The windows on the nearby house were dark – they probably went to the country…

He still couldn't believe it. Albert. To think, that such a kind, quiet person who smiled so often, the one with whom Caspar played chess and most of the time kept losing… Albert held his role and responsibility much more seriously than Caspar ever did. Albert should have become the next head of the Blach family, if he didn't get into a wrong place at a wrong time, putting the whole mission of the Church's executors in jeopardy…

He could barely get over his loss. And now, when Albert returned – alive, real – the family is going to kill him off for real.

No. No. This is wrong. He will talk to them, he will… it's hard on them too after all. Now he understood why his mother cried last night – she heard who was coming home. Now Caspar knew that he can't trust even the closest relatives – because they've been lying to him for so long…

The door creaked, and Maximillian came in, holding a shotgun.

-His truck is outside. – He said. – And our phone no longer works. Albert has decided at last.

Caspar stood up, looking father in the eye, hoping to find there a hope to resolve this without bloodshed. He found none.

-This is for you. – Father left the gun near Caspar's bed. – Except this time it won't be like on a hunt.

-I...

-If you feel like not up to do it, then stay here and don't get in my way. I'll sort it out myself. – Senior Blach's voice was like steel. – But if you are going with me, remember this: no warning shots, no attempts to make him surrender. It's all bullshit. Don't touch the weapon unless you shoot to kill.

-I...I understand. – Caspar slowly raised the gun. – I'm ready.

-That's the spirit. – Father patted his shoulder. – You've grown to be a real mage after all.

They walked downstairs. There was light everywhere, each damned bulb in the house was lit.

-Where's mother?

-Upstairs. I doubt he would harm her, but she can't bring herself to…

-I see.

They took positions in the hall. Caspar occupied the stairs, or – more exactly – the small flat area upstairs, from where the smaller stairs went in all directions on the second floor. Maximillian rolled up the sleeves on his striped shirt and started to slowly swing a small metal disc on a chain. His son didn't remember seeing that particular trinket before.

-The warning charms are breached! – Irma Blach screamed from the second floor. – He's passed the outer boundary!

-It has begun. – Maximillian hissed. – Unleash them all!

-Charge! – Caspar's mother roared and at the same moment dozens of shadows dashed past him. He couldn't get a good look at them, as they shrieked, hissed and ran straight through the wall.

Something flashed outside the mansion, night's darkness chased away by a bright flame. They heard crashing and clanging noise, which was followed by two loud claps and a wild scream.

Then, everything fell silent again.

-We got him. – Maximillian said with uncertainty in his voice. – No, it was a bit too easy… Irma! What's happening?

-I don't know! – She yelled from upstairs. – They attacked… and…

-And what?

-And I've lost them all. In an instant.

-That's nonsense. – Senior Blach frowned. – Does the barrier hold?

-Yes. – Caspar's mother leaned out from the doorway. – But I can feel somebody probing it now.

-We need the proactive abjurations, fast. – The head of the family spat the words out.

-I can't do this…

-Now! – Maximillian snapped.

Irma Blach sighed and returned to her room. Caspar heard three or four short, sharp commands – and once again something flared outside. He knew it was a proactive abjuration his father spoke about. He knew it quite well: a year ago there was a burglar, who tried to rob their house. What was left of him fit into a dust tray.

Same fate befell on Albert…

-Roasted and toasted, you little bastard. – Maximillian said with a smug grin. – Irma, what are you…

A pained screech filled the house from upstairs.

-Irma! What the hell?

-I have no idea! Something retaliated! I barely had time to drop the link to the barrier…

_Something retaliated._

Caspar tried his best to keep from shaking.

-He's breaking through! – Caspar heard clear panic in his mother's voice. – Where did he get such power?

-Can you hold? – Coldly asked Blach.

-I don't think so. Oh… one more minute and the barrier will bend back on us like paper!

-Strike again. Torch him.

-Max!

-Do it!

A flash. A scream. And then a loud bang.

Caspar's mother yelled so terribly once might have thought she was being torn apart.

-I can't hold any more! I have to lower the shield!

-Don't you dare! – Blach roared.

-His power is increasing! We risk quenching all life in the vicinity if the barrier is not dropped! It will drain the whole area dry! I'm dropping it!

-Don't you...

This time around there was no claps. The sound from outside the windows was more like an old rag, slowly being torn.

-The barrier is no more. – Caspar's mother said with a sigh, leaning from the doorway. – I've done everything I could.

-Go back and hide somewhere. Don't open the doors until I tell you to. – Commanded Maximillian Blach, turning to his son in a moment. – Well, it seems we'll have to put Albert down personally.

They returned on their previous positions and exchanged a few short, strained lines.

-How could he… I don't understand…

-Me neither. This barrier shouldn't have fallen. If anything, he shouldn't have reached it, even.

-Maybe we could try…

-No, Caspar. We won't talk to him.

Quiet. Too quiet, almost as if after tearing the mansion's defenses apart, Albert considered his work here done. Blach-junior was going to say something else, when the silence was broken by the roaring of an engine. Caspar suddenly realized, why his brother needed a truck…

-Stand back! – He screamed. – Away from the doors!

Headlights pierced the windows with rays of light. A large truck effortlessly smashed through the mansion walls with a terrifying rumble. Debris flew in all directions. Maximillian whispered something a covered himself with a hand – everything that flew at him crumbled in the mid-air, stopped by an invisible shield. Caspar aimed through the smoke, which filled the hall – somewhere in there he heard the cabin door slap… 

* * *

Irma Blach fled to her room after losing both her barrier and all familiars. She did her best and now it was upon others to finish the job. Besides, to look at how they are going to…

To see them murder her son…

No. There's no way to stop it now…

No way at all…

If she were to intervene, they would do the same thing to her… and to make the matters worse, Albert isn't likely to…

No, the thing that returned to them after all these years is not likely to show mercy either.

She turned the key for the second time and put it in her pocket with shivering hands. Then, she pressed her back against the closed door, fighting the only desire a mother could have in such a moment – to run back and try to stop them, stop…

But as soon as her back touched the door, even that thought left her mind.

The reason was that she wasn't alone in her room.

There was a tall man, stripped to the waist, standing near the old fireplace, which hasn't been lit for five years or so.

Or was he even human?

His sinewy body was covered in scars and its skin had an unnatural, sickly color. Long arms had unbelievably thin fingers, and each ended with a small, but hard and pointy claw. His hair was messy and his left eye was covered by an eye-patch. She even saw two rows of sharp teeth…

-Good evening. – The ruffian grinned from ear to ear, taking a small knife from behind his back. – And good night. 

* * *

-Get ready. – Blach whispered to his son. – Shoot as soon as you see him.

The smoke gradually thinned out. Something clicked in there and then a blond mage in a white dandy suit showed up with a shining smile. It was the same mage that scared Caspar on his way back home.

Albert.

-Home, sweet home. – He laughed, throwing his arms wide, as if he was going to hug someone.

Caspar's fingers went numb – he just couldn't force himself to shoot

-Is it how you welcome back you beloved son? – Albert stepped forward, still smiling.

Maximillian snapped his fingers.

At this moment all the traps fired at once.

The mage in white was struck by a dozen branchy lightings, which came from the seals on the walls. He was engulfed by a roaring column of fire and, as if it wasn't enough, all six armor suits went in to chop up what was left of their master's foe.

Maximillian Blach lowered his metal disc, expecting to see nothing but lumps of charred flesh. He was already going to give his son an earful for hesitating to shoot…

-Not bad, dad. Rather good actually. – The smug voice made Maximillian stagger.

How?

How could he…

Albert came out from the smoke and steam – without a scratch. Only his suit and watches were damaged – the charred rags fell from his body and the metal scraps littered the floor.

And then Maximillian saw it.

All his body – from the shanks and up to throat – was covered in shimmering lines, deep fissures carved into his flesh and skin. Those lines spread across his entire body and shimmered stronger and stronger by the minute.

-What… what have you done to yourself? – Blach snapped.

-Oh, lot's of interesting things. – Albert waved his hand to Caspar. – Greetings, brother! How are you doing?

He didn't answer – the gun in his hands wobbled from side to side and his teeth chattered.

-You won't walk away from this. – Blach whispered. – This much I can promise.

-Oh but you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. – Albert glanced at the armor suits, shambling at him. – But first of all, call off this old scrap.

-You...

-Do it… or else she's a dead woman! – Albert made a dramatic gesture toward the stairway. – Candle!

Caspar turned around reflexively and froze in place, when he saw his mother – with a knife pressed against her neck, held by a weird one-eyed ruffian.

-You wouldn't dare. – Maximillian exhaled, white with anger. – You don't have the guts to kill your own mother!

-Shoot, Caspar! – rasped Irma Blach.

-Yes, shoot! – Freri roared with laughter.

Caspar felt like he was going to faint any minute. It was far too much to endure for him.

-You say I wouldn't dare? – Albert smiled again. – Once I thought not to be able to do to myself what you see now, either. And yet…

-What do you want? – Blach had to yield.

-Drop your weapons, both of you.

The metal disc and the shotgun hit the floor. Armor suits halted a few meters away from the mage.

-And now you will tell Caspar everything. – Hatred flared in Albert's voice. – Here and now.

-I don't understand...

-Father? What else did you hide from me? – Blach-junior shouted from the stairs.

-Nothing! – Maximillian bellowed. – Don't listen to him!

-Tell my brother what fate was awaiting him were I to stay the heir. Tell him. Or else Candle will…

-Never.

-I'm going to count to three. Then her head will roll down these stairs. One…

-No! – Blach screamed. – You won't dare, you monster!

-Two…

-We'd have to cast you out, Caspar! – Shouted Maximillian Blach.

Albert laughed without restraint.

-What? Dad… - Caspar was at his limit.

-To have more than one progeny in a magus family is very undesirable. The infighting for the Crest is an ever-present menace. – His father's voice was dulled. – But you two… you were always keeping up with each other, so we couldn't decide which one we'd keep.

-You'd k-keep? – Caspar stuttered, forcing the words out.

-After some deliberation, we decide it would be Albert. If not for that story he got himself into, we would wipe your memories in about a year and send you into a mundane family. But as he was lost on us, we had to… adapt.

-You… were going to throw me away?

-Yes. – Blach sighed. – There is no other way.

-It means… I…

-Just a backup plan. You were good enough, given the lack of alternatives, but that's it. – Albert raised his voice once again. – And now you know what it is like to be a magus child. How fun it can be. And how painful!

Caspar stared at his father with his eyes wide-open, unable to believe what he just heard. They… They'd cast him out?

-I told him everything. – Maximilian hissed again. – Now let her go.

-I thought about it. – Albert answered. – You are right about one thing. – I may be a freak, but even I can't kill my mother with my own hands. Candle!

-No! – Roared Maximilian.

Albert waved his hand. Freri buried his knife in his victim's neck.

-Mama!

Caspar didn't even understand where did the strength come from, but it was enough to cover the whole stairway in a few jumps and reach the scum that hit his mother with a knife…

-It's yours. – Freri pushed the bloodied, dying woman in the back, grinning nastily.

Irma Blach fell on her son and tumbled down the stairs, pulling Caspar with her. Her head was dangling on the last shred of skin and when she reached the floor, the head severed completely and rolled at the feet of Maximillian.

Maximillian Blach has completely lost his speech, snatched the meal disc from the floor and swung it thrice, spooling the chain around his arm. Then his hand shot forward and he barked an arcane formula, pointing at laughing Albert.

-I wouldn't recommend that. – He said with amusement.

Blach's hand was glowing, almost burning with power and his spell was supposed to crack Albert's skull. The result, however, was the entirely different: Blach himself was flung backwards and screamed in pain, as his arm was twisted, broken and bloodied. The bones stuck out and his palm dangled like a rag.

-What are you?! – Roared Maximillian Blach. – Just what the hell are you?!

-I'm your worst nightmare. Candle, take my brother upstairs and pack him. I'm going to need him.

-Caspar, your gun! – Blach cried.

But his son didn't listen. He was sitting on the floor, looking at his mother corpse with maddened eyes, not paying attention to Freri, who approached him.

-I don't know what they did to you in the Sea of Astray, but I will end you here. You and that bastard you brought along. – Maximillian Blach finished his line with considerable effort and immediately spoke a sort spell.

His son didn't intervene for some reason and just watched with a smile.

-You should know this, dad…

-Die!

A shadow jumped from Blach's fingertips and covered Albert whole. But after a moment it burst with a deafening clap.

-How did you…

-...whoever hurts me, shall be repaid sevenfold.

Maximillian's skin started to melt away, flowing like wax. Blach screams, like he never screamed in his entire life.

His body falls heavily to the floor, continuing to writhe and squirm there.

-I'll butcher you… butcher… son of a bitch… kill you…

His screams didn't last long – his throat eroded from inside.

-I dreamed about this every day on that damned rock. And every damn night. – utters Albert, while kicking his father's body to his heart's content. – You see? You're not scary, dad! Not scary at all.

Albert's eyes almost pop out and his pretense of disdainful tranquility slips away, revealing true self of the magus – a warped and insane face.

-You're not scary! Not scary! Not scaaaaaaryyy! – Albert snaped completely and started screeching and spattering foam from his mouth, all while kicking and kicking the lifeless body. – How's that? D'you like it? Huh? That feels good? Answer me! Answer!

Albert kept kicking the body till his leg started to hurt. 

* * *

Caspar Blach came to his senses. To find out that he is still alive was surprising at first and deathly terrifying, knowing that...

Maybe it was all just a dream?

-Don't count on it. – Albert's sinister face appeared above his head. – Perish the thought, old fellow.

-Wait! Wait! – Caspar shouted, crawling towards the wall. – I didn't know what they done! I knew nothing!

-Ignorance won't save you. – Albert nodded to his companion and he dropped a large suitcase on the floor.

When it opened, Caspar wanted to faint again. But the darkness didn't come.

-W-what is it…

-Those are the necessary tools, nothing more. – Uttered Albert. – You see, daddy gave you something that ought to be mine. Yes, I'm speaking about the magic crest, my old fellow. Fortunately, in the Sea of Astray, I came upon a correct method of its extraction.

-Ex-ext-raction…

-Forgive me, Caspar, but I can't guarantee it won't hurt…


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter**** 3****. ****"****Dogma****".**

_Wolves leave for the skies_

_With their burning cold eyes_

_And no faith in the miracles _

_Ever ordered__._

_Another day, another goal_

_Across the mountains and walls_

_And the alien horde awaits_

_Desperate strangers_

(B-2 – Wolves)

The rain was beating against the windows. A single glowing cigarette was the only source of light in the room. Its ember nearly reached the filer tip and soon would burn Ascol's fingertips.

They kept interrogating him for 4 hours, maybe more. The interrogators repeated the same questions over and over, as if hoping to hear something new on the third or fourth attempt. Their hopes were in vain though – Katt could only tell them what he knew.

-...let's hear it again. – Hissed Rayle. – You have taken Albert Blach into custody…

-Entirely by chance, as he was a witness of our operation to take down… damn, what was his name…

-Please, concentrate. Every small detail is important to us.

-Farco. Ish Farco, the Atlas' fugitive.

-Who had the chance to sell quite a few of our secrets off the books. – Coss gave his two cents on the matter. – Such a pain in the ass, really…

-Who carried out the extermination of the subject? Was it you, father Katt? – Asked the balding representative of the Assembly.

-I was in charge of the operation. – Ascol sighed. – If it is so important to you, who personally ripped Farcos head off, it was Whisper.

-Spare us your silly code names. – Rayle said angrily. – We need names.

-Rosaria Leno. – Katt answered. – Is she still alive, by the way?

-Yes. – Said Julian with a cringe. – This mad dog seems impervious to anything. Oh and father Katt? After your disappearance she was put in charge of the "Dogma" squad.

-Not the wisest decision if you ask me. – Ascol mumbled. – So how long she held out?

-The "Dogma" squad was disbanded after eighteen months. – Julian answered. – What was left of it, I mean. But we'll have time to discuss your former squad, for now let's return to the Farcos case. There were some complications during the operation…

-A stray witness. Kid happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. What's worse – he happened to be a mage. – Ascol was quiet for some time, deep in his memories. – He saw Whisper slaughtering Farco. Thought we were going to dispose of him too. Freaked out.

-Continue. – rasped Rayle.

-I was trying to settle the things peacefully, but Torch and Whisper scared the hell out of him. When he got pressed into a corner, he tried to raise a Bounded Field of an insane magnitude; one has to be at least an Ancestor to successfully channel that much power. He screwed up, of course.

-And so? – Rayle raised an eyebrow in question.

-I've never seen that happen to anyone before… It was like he burned out from inside. At first I've thought it was a simple fainting fit, but after careful examination we saw that he was completely paralyzed. We made sure he could breathe and speak, so that he could tell us who the hell he was who do we need to call. He was from the Blach family…

-Quite a well-known European family. – Julian interrupted, talking to Rayle. – A stalwart, full-blooded dynasty.

-Did you return the boy to his family?

-I did. His father came for him, that huge grunt. I turned over his idiot child and told him everything. He simply thanked me and asked to keep it a secret. Told me this problem should stay inside the family and that he was going to solve personally, like a true magus should.

-He should have killed that whelp. – Coldly said Julian. – Yet he spared his life.

-Hollow… is that how you called him? – Asked Rayle.

-Yes. – Ascol nodded. – Slipped out… when I was talking to his father. We had the chance to make a few tests, and they showed no circuit response. Null.

-The mage who you claim to have zero magical ability is slaughtering our people, squashing them like flies. – Angrily barked Julian. – It seems to me that it wasn't just Albert, who screwed up.

-It's because the artifact he got his hands on. – Coss raised his voice again. – This item can easily heal him, among other things…

-Can you tell me at least, what this thing is?

-No, father Katt, not yet. – Rayle put his hand together, covering his mouth. – Right now we are going through the candidates to lead the operation to find and neutralize Albert Blach. Should you be approved for it, however...

-Hold on, do you want me to take him? – Ascol felt like laughing straight in their ugly faces. – Me? The old, overage wreck?

-Yes, precisely. – Julian said with a filthy grin. – And we have a few reasons for that. First, you know him better than us.

-Bullshit! I was with him for less than a…

-Silence. Secondly, all our best agents are currently engaged in other operations and we cannot afford to abort tracking the Apostles just to bring down Blach.

-And thirdly?

-And thirdly, father Katt, this is your only chance to redeem yourself after the failure of the Blizzard operation.

-Can I say no?

-You can. But that's a one-way road to the nearest crematorium and then to hell.

-Sounds sweet. Gotta warm my old bones…

-Stop fucking around! – Julian snapped. – Yes or no?

-I have… a few conditions.

-You are not in a position to… – started Julian, but Rayle stopped him with a gesture and calmly replied. – You have our undivided attention, father Katt.

-Firstly, I need all available information about Blach and the thing he stole from the Tomb. Secondly, I need my people.

-We told you already that the Dogma squad was disbanded.

-Then gather those who are still alive. I'm not going to work with the people I'm seeing for the first time. Next…

-Wasn't that all? – Julian's face was already red with anger.

-No, but I'm getting to it. If you are letting me back into the House of Slaughter, asking me to carry out not the God's word, but His will, I will need your protection. As His executor I am of course, under the protection of the Eighth Sacrament, but as long as I am in this vale of tears, woe, and misery, I'd like to have something more tangible.

-Your right to kill is returned as of this moment, father Katt. – Rasped Julian. – You are free to do whatever you deem necessary. Time is of the essence so we'll have to skip the formal ceremonies. You are in business and the Church will provide you with protection and cover, whenever needed.

-Fantastic. – Ascol let an impudent grin stay on his face a little longer than necessary. – And finally, let's talk the financial side of this operation…

They didn't approve all of his demands of course, and he was well aware it was a brash move. Still, to pass up on an opportunity to mock Julian when it was possible… no, the temptation was too strong.

It was the third day of his confinement to quarters, during which the survivors from the Dogma squad were hurriedly gathered in Vatican under the orders from Julian the Raving. Apart from that, Julian's men gathered or, more specifically, rearranged all available information on Blach the Hollow (a nickname that somehow stuck to him very easily) as well as the artifact he stole from the Wandering Tomb. Ascol couldn't access that info yet, he couldn't even go outside until all the preparations are finished. Ever-sullen corporal Andrie kept watch over Ascol's temporary apartments with unfailing awareness (The night shift was covered by a different knight though). Ascol was reinstated as an executor, albeit in the name only for now. The bureaucratic machine got even more sluggish under Julian's command and needed time to digest the new data to approve father Katt's rights on every level. For now, all he could do was to smoke and read the newspapers. No new murders were reported: either Hollow finished all his business in the Vatican or he chose to lay low and wait. This could use some thought, unfortunately Ascol had none to spare. To enter this deadly whirlpool and keep a level head after six years of peaceful living was bloody difficult…

Still, he did his best.

Putting his cigarette out, he reached out to grab a pack from the table, when there was the sound of some racket from behind the door.

-...negative.

-How about you give it a second thought?

-Under the orders of His Eminence Julian V…ugh…

Next words drowned in groans, and after a moment Ascol heard the body hit the floor.

Fantastic. Seems like his vacation is going to be cut short…

Ascol jumped from the bed, grabbed the silenced pistol they gave him yesterday and leaned towards the wall.

The front door creaked, but held after the first strike. And even the second one. The third, however, was strong enough and with a weak noise it gave in.

Ascol almost became one with the wall.

The intruder wasn't even trying to hide: the steps were loud and clear. He stopped in the corridor, most likely to look around.

He even turned on the light – in the silent apartment it felt loud like a gunshot.

Just what you need.

A split-second was enough for Ascol to dash into the doorway and in a moment he opened fire on the tall figure in a black hood. His enemy showed flawless reflexes, dodging out of the way and a second later Ascol saw a short Key, flying in his face.

A Key?

Dodging at the last moment, Ascol felt his muscles rapidly going numb. He put all his strength into turning his neck and saw that his clear shadow was pinned to the wall by a sharp blade.

So they decided he was expendable?

Or was it Julian's personal vendetta?

The tall guest in heavy boots thumped towards Ascol and struck him down with a single powerful blow. Then, he sat on his chest and took the hood off.

-You've gone soft, Owl.

Ascol took a good look at his assailant and felt that meeting all his old acquaintances in such a short time becomes taxing.

-Whisper. Damn, I should have chosen crematorium.

* * *

The door with a broken lock was now safely propped by a bed table. The knight, which used to guard the apartment, was dragged couple floor above to come to his senses.

-So I've heard you were the boss for a while? – Ascol snapped his lighter.

-A little while, yeah. Nobody understood my tactical genius.

Whisper was known across the whole House of Slaughter, but her nickname was a deliberate mockery, and the idea belonged to Ascol. She could be considered a quiet type – albeit only if one compares her to the most turbulent inmates of insane asylums. One could also call her a Shrimp – why not – after all, in comparison to some mythical man-eating ogres she was small and docile. The trait than put her strikingly apart from the ogres was being real, living, breathing human being. Those, who stood in her way, soon realized the painful reality of her existence. Ascol always kept a realistic outlook and never overestimated his ability. He could kill an average person quick and easy (or at least he could do so when he was at the peak of his strength), mages, who were the bulk of his targets, posed a little more problem. Nevertheless, because he spent most part of his life hunting them, vast experience and careful preparation always secured his victory. Vampires, however… he had to admit – this nut was too tough for him to crack. Whisper, on the other hand, specialized in vampires. She looked the part, too.

-How did you know where to look for me? – Ascol stretched on the sofa, puffing smoke in the air.

-Julian told me. He said we'd meet tomorrow – forgot I don't like waiting. Whisper took a bottle of pills from her pocket, poured out a few in her palm and swallowed them.

-Still gobbling that poison?

-Take it easy, Katt. For me it's like a cup of tea.

-I don't start seeing shit after tea. Anyway, tell me about it.

-About what?

-How was it here without me? Without others?

-It was like hell. Real, blood-soaked, roasted-ass hell. Double that and maybe it'll be close.

-About our people – who of them is still kicking?

-Torch and Shard still do. First's gonna arrive any day now, they dragged him from Switzerland and he's bloody pissed about that. The second was to become official number eight in the Burial Agency. This shit got in the way of is exams. – Whisper let out a husky laugh. – He's not any kinder for that either.

-Is that all? – Ascol quietly asked.

-Yes. Everyone else got killed when we lost you – Atlas insisted on having their alchemist with us. Plus, we have some fresh blood…

-I loathe thinking where did you get all that info…

-You gotta know the spot. And people. – Whisper passed a crumpled piece of paper to him. – Here, I snatched it from Vert yesterday.

-Incredible, simply incredible. – Mused Katt, looking through the short list. – A rat from the Atlas was bad enough, but to have a raw recruit on this mission… What is Vert thinking? I'm not going to drag around dead weight.

-Julian said he's not bad at all...

-Except that his file states he has no field experience. Dear Lord, am I such an old wreck they have me lead the greenhorns on their first hunt?

-And you have the nerve to complain. – Whisper grumbled. – They said I can't teach any one after that one time.

-Not surprising. You've "accidentally" snapped one's neck and the other three got maimed for life…

-Well I went a little too far, what's wrong with that? Stop nagging already, will you? There are four of us, plus that jerk from the Atlas. I'll keep my eye on the newbie, I promise, okay?

-Pass my sincere condolences to him. – Ascol sighed. – Now that you've said you know more than I… have they told you about that thing Hollow nicked?

-Nope, they keep still about it. When it gets mentioned everyone screws faces and the Atlas guy almost drools.

-Any ideas what it can be?

-Fuckin' anything. – Whisper shrugged.

-If we are to believe what I've heard, the power of that trinket made him comparable to the Apostle Ancestor. And we're talking the kid, who should have been severed from the magecraft for the remainder of his life.

-We're in deep shit, Katt, but after the Blizzard every job I've been through was like a walk in the park. And you…

-Shut up. – Ascol stubbed his cigarette out, visibly irritated and turned away, looking at the dirty walls.

-Katt, I didn't want to… – Whisper raised from her seat, her bravado died out after a single glance at Ascol's face.

-Six years. I thought it would be enough to forget about it and never recall again. – Ascol muttered without even turning his head. – You know, I almost did it. And now, every goddamn day they drag me though this. Answer their questions over and over again.

-I'm sorry, Katt.

-You've done nothing wrong. – He raised abruptly and dragged himself to the kitchen. – You wanna drink something?

-And you have something to choose from?

-Yep. Julian ordered to bring me a whole stock of brews, anything your soul desires. From absinthe to champagne…

-You're joking, Katt. Why would Vert ever try to please you?

-This bastard is pleasing himself. Out kind friend from the Atlas has implanted in me something that subsists on alcohol.

-Wha-at?

-You heard me. Said I won't be able to hold a drop of it for half a year. And if I'm going to try, I'd win a precision puking contest.

-You're shitting me.

-I'm serious. – Ascol returned to the room with a large bottle and a single glass. – I tried it yesterday already – been talking on a big white phone for the rest of the night, thought I'd spew my guts out. So go ahead, I'll just watch.

Whisper wasn't the sort of person who needed an invitation like that twice – she gulped down more than half a bottle in no time. Then, she stretched all her length in an armchair and put her legs on a stand, looking at her companion: Ascol was sitting on a wobbly wooden chair, smoking and looking out the window.

-What are you thinking about?

Ascol didn't answer – the question was obviously a rhetorical one. What else, besides the cursed Blizzard operation could trouble his thoughts?

_Eyes, flooded with blue, no pupils. Shattered glass. Dead, lying in tattered winter clothes – clumps of broken, gray flesh, covered in ice. Cold, crooked fingers, clenching the assault rifle._

_Drop. Drop. Drop._

_White, almost colorless blood, dripping onto the white floor tiles. _

_A broken Black Key in his hand. _

-Hey, are you listening?

_A tortured child face. _

-Katt!

-Yeah, yeah. – Ascol shook his head, throwing another stub into the window. – I did right that time, didn't I? Tell me.

-That time… what are you…

-Yes.

-You did what you had to. Don't let any motherfuckers tell you otherwise.

-Tell that to Vert.

-Vert can stick those charges in his ass. He wasn't with us _there. _That day, when the rift tore open… why did you drag this freak out of there?

-He may be a freak. But he's still our boss. Besides… I left him without his reward… Ascol struggled with the last word.

Reward.

Julian the Raving saw that _thing _as a trophy. It was the sought-after treasure that Ascol stole right from under his nose.

However Vert was not so easily thwarted and he achieved his goals regardless. And now nothing could ever stop him.

-Enough about that, Katt. By the way, now that you mention rewards… – Whisper took an old worn lighter. – Remember you left it with me before the assault?

-And you didn't lose it? – Ascol muttered, surprised. The old engraving, reading "Fuck Association" was still legible. – Thanks, I really missed it.

-Now give me mine. I'll bury you if you lost it.

-You ain't sturdy enough for that. – Ascol threw her his lighter, with a barely-readable engraving "...nto dust shalt thou return". – The circle comes to a close, huh. Remember when we made those for each other?

-Oh I'd never forget the muttonhead you were back then.

-I used to be one, true, but you haven't changed at all. And how we first met?

-Of course. – She grinned from ear to ear. – I gave you one hell of a beating.

-Shall I remind you how I got back for that?

-Now this is what you won't be sturdy enough for. And you know, Katt… – Whisper suddenly made a serious face. – When I was walking here, I really wanted to kill you.

-The news get better and better. – Rasped Ascol, choking on his smoke. – I don't even know why…

-You don't know nothing!

The wooden stand cracked miserably when she kicked it into the wall.

-What can you know?

Ascol dodged at the last second and the bottle with the remaining booze passed near his skull.

-You ran away! Vanished for the six damned years!

-Whisper…

-Shut up!

He needed a couple of seconds to rise from his chair near the window. Unfortunately, Whisper needed _a lot _less time to dash through the room and reach him. Being pushed to the wall, looking at her angry, white face and the Black Key that was still half-sheathed in her clothes, he felt an urge to laugh in her face.

Oh really. Of all people, she wanted to see him the most, she'd never kill him.

-You…you… – Whisper struggled with every word. – You fled and left me to account for what you've done! For all of it! You knew I wouldn't be able to refuse! But you can't deny you knew how bad of a leader I am! You…

-I had no choice.

-That's your favorite excuse, Katt. – She hissed angrily. – You always think you're so special, right? Think that you suffer more than anybody else? Did I have a choice? Tell me, did I have a choice when they dragged me from that bastard's den? The bastard, who had my family served as a dinner? Maybe I should have just wiped my tears and walk away?

-No you shouldn't. And yet you could have done that.

He came to his senses after a brief flight through the room and thought it was a bad choice of words that he used, when his face met the unlucky wooden stand.

Whisper didn't have enough, though.

-Your cronies from the Assembly cover you and you fled, without telling us you were alive!

She approached. Ascol spit blood and slowly stood up. All his body hurt.

-All who died under my command – they all died because of you!

-Whisper…

She took the armchair and hurled it aside like it was a feather, walking to him ever so slowly.

-All because you were such a damn coward!

_My God, what do they dope her with? _

-But you know, your main sin wasn't even that, Katt. I can understand it all, I really can. But you… you've discarded _me__._

The blow was so strong, Ascol regretted raising too quickly – now he felt like he couldn't stand up even if he tried. Still, he knew that Whisper would not hesitate punching a lying opponent.

He also knew that in a direct melee combat that creature, which got crammed-up with Assembly's finest enhancement drugs, could wreak him even at the peak of his strength. And now… it wasn't even a fight. She simply beat him to a pulp.

-This is for when we've met!

Cracking. Searing pain.

-This is for when you fled!

Black circles float in front of his eyes. He feels being dragged away somewhere.

-This is for all these years I searched for you, digging through the dirt!

Looks like she's going to smash a TV with his head.

-And this is for when I've finally found you!

Without wasting precious time, trying to wriggle from her grasp, her spit out a couple of words along with his blood. Insane, monstrous pain flashed in his arms, next moment consuming all his body.

_God I hate this._

It felt like breathing suddenly was easier. Whisper's grip too, seemed like at least one third weaker…

-And you still…

Just don't falter.

The short incantation was complete.

That moment their roles were reversed.

-Ag-gain…

-You never learn. – Wheezed Ascol, finally breaking out. – I told you to stick to the scriptures, not the gym, when we met.

-Owl!

As always she didn't want to admit she lost her advantage. And she always went for a frontal assault in such cases.

And – even if this part didn't happen all the time, it was quite often that she realized her mistake when she saw it face to face.

He had less than a minute before the power leaves him and he slams to the ground like a wet rag. But he made good use of that time.

Now Whisper, formidable as she was, moved as a clumsy doll. Now his blows landed precisely. Now she felt their full power.

-Maybe I have something to answer for. – Rasped Ascol, continuing his onslaught. – Those things can't be undone by an apology. So I understand why you are angry. I won't punish you for it. But you have forgotten how to speak to your superior and this is something I won't let you walk away with.

-Think you can remind me, old man?

-I don't "think" so. I know. You do remember, what will happen to the looser?

-Whatever winner will be able to come up with of course. – Whisper grinned nastily, waving hand to him. – Are you ready for more?

* * *

The heavy iron door opens with a screech – it's hinges haven't been greased in a long time. Kirik Brunillio, an executor candidate, took a break from his business and glanced at the two visitors, who came to his modest room.

First was a tall, lean man, dressed in a plain suit. His face was bruised, scarred, showed lack of sleep and intense irritation. He was followed by a woman so tall, Kirik immediately felt uncomfortable. Being a relatively small stature didn't help either. The giantess expression was more-or-less friendly, compared to her companion, but nonetheless someone of her stature could wipe the floor with someone like Kirik without breaking a sweat. Who could keep cool in his shoes?

First thing he tried to do was to hide the results of his work – but unfortunately there was absolutely nothing in hand's reach where he could put them. In the meantime, the sullen guy got even more irritated.

-What is this? – He gasped instead of introducing himself.

-I… I was training… – Kirik couldn't take the pressure and averted his gaze. – You know, materializing Black Keys from the pages…

-I see what you've been doing. – The glum executor took a cigarette pack from his pocket and picked one. – So how long you've been practicing? It's in your interests that this Bible stays the only one you've torn to shreds.

-Y-yes. I decided to try yesterday, it's my first time.

-What a blockhead. – The man chuckled slightly. – I'm working here for more than twenty years and it's my lucky day if I get it right two times out of six. Don't waste your time.

-But they told me I have good aptitude to…

-Where did they tell you that? In the boot camp? Only the more reason to get that shit out of your head. You hear me, Kirik?

-Excuse me, are you…

-Katt Ascol, your new commander. And your worst nightmare if you thing you can get a slide. This is Whisper. – He made a short gesture towards the tall woman. – My number one assistant. If I get killed or disposed of in favor of someone else, your life will rest in her hands. And she's not nearly as kind as me.

-Nice to meet you! – Added the executor woman, clenching Kirik's hand so firmly in a handshake that his face wrinkled from pain. – Fresh meat is always nice. By the way, did they tell you what game are we going to hunt? No? An insane magus, who reached the level of an Apostle Ancestor in terms of sheer power. He's being hunted by the whole Association, actually.

-Ancestor level… – Kirik muttered in a daze. – Wait, are you that… that Dogma squad everyone talks about?

-The former one, yes. – Ascol snorted. – Do they still have some good words to say about us?

-Certainly! – Kirik burst out. – You were the living legends, I'd never imagine to meet someone like you on my first mission…

-I wouldn't see it as a good thing in your shoes. – Ascol paced around the room, looking at his scarce belongings. – No offence, but you are still ordinary meat just like our brave knights. And since somebody shoved you onto us, it means you've already pissed somebody off.

-But I…

-I don't care what you did or who it was that you pissed off. I'm simply stating the facts. They want to get rid of you; your survival isn't planned for.

-Hey, why did you get so pale? – Asked Whisper, towering above Kirik. – Feelin' butterflies in your belly? Don't flip out, I'll keep an eye on you. You are a piece of meat, but what's the point in getting you shot?

-So how did you get in our department? – Ascol said, puffing smoke.

-I have… erm…Circuits…a little, but…

-Circuits, you say? – Whisper slapped his back with such force he nearly fell flat on his face. – Doing magic when nobody's looking? And have you heard how many of those fellas with thick circuitry were send to hell by me and father Katt?

-I...I just wanted…

-Let's keep it simple. – Ascol sighed. – Tell us what you can do.

-I'm a healer. – Kirik blurt out. – Top rank.

-Is that so? – Whisper mused, lost in thought. – Can you stitch back a torn limb?

-I can. I'm not very experienced, but…

-Good enough. – Katt brushed him aside. – Now listen here, kid. Two more former Dogma operatives are arriving tonight. Briefing is tomorrow morning and after that we'll start the hunt. Are we clear?

-A question, sir?

-Make it quick.

-They… really want me dead?

-Yes. Standard practice, really. But if you follow the orders, you will survive, that much I can promise. And if you screw up, it will be easier to rip your head off ourselves. For now, gather your stuff, pray, check your guns, do whatever you want except bothering me with more pointless questions. We…

The ringing of Whisper's phone interrupted Ascol mid-sentence.

-What? Who? – She roared into the phone. – I can't hear shit, there's no signal in this damned dungeon!

-Go talk in the corridor, please. – Ascol hissed. – Or you'll wake the dead here.

The door clanged behind Whisper and Ascol looked at the candidate once more.

-You wanna hear some advice? – He stubbed the cigarette and reached for the new one.

-I guess?

-The Dogma consisted of all sorts of brutes and numbskulls. I don't know what shit did they tell you back there, but don't bring that up again, okay? We're not heroes and you ain't gonna be one either. Second, just a friendly recommendation, mind what you say and what you do. I may be an understanding person, but Whisper… let's just say she occasionally has problems with anger management. Worst thing you can do is to call her by name.

-Why?

-Because that will remind her who she was and what she went through, before the Church took her in. She really hates those memories. Last guy to forget that, finished his career with a seven-storey drop. And, between you and me, the name Rosaria, rose – it's something beautiful and poetic, not a walking tank, who can catch a bullet with her teeth, tear apart an Apostle in melee and who has to daily take a handful of drugs, getting incredibly high in the process… damn. In short, as long as you remember that, she won't lay a finger on you, that much I can guarantee. And if you forget that… well, might as well come up with an epitaph while you're still alive.

-I… I'll try to remember that.

-Clever kid. Now, about the others… what's with that look?

-Well…

-Spit it out already.

-Was it she who bruised your face?

-Bingo. This time she got me. I'm not getting any younger after all.

-But you…

-We had certain disagreement, and besides she got herself drunk. She's quick-tempered, but cools down just as fast. So if you manage to survive the first few minutes, everything goes swimmingly. – Ascol laughed drily and dropped the issue, leaving Kirik stunned and surprised. – Anyway, there's gonna be two more people besides her. Firstly – Torch. He's a sick asshole, but he does his part well. He's a expert in all that concerns firearms, explosives – that kind of shit. Shard is… well, he's a quiet type. Modest even. If you want to learn about some really useful stuff and happen to get about half a year to spare – make sure to ask him. Oh and there also will be a certain dickhead from the Atlas, keep clear of that one. That's all for now. Any questions?

-I...

-No questions, marvelous. We'll pick you up in the evening.

The door slammed shut and Kirik was once again alone with his torn Bible and so many questions he didn't get answers for…

* * *

Ascol closed the door and looked around, hoping to see Whisper, but she vanished without a trace.

_Damn it. And she promised to treat me to a dinner, too._

-Father Katt? – A quiet and soft voice with a pleasant slight foreign accent made Ascol turn around.

There she stood, leaning against the wall, peeking from below her hood. The bloodhound of Narbareck, the one who stated her alias at the interrogation and didn't utter a single word after that.

-Julian was certain you don't speak English… – Said Katt with surprise. – But it seems he was wrong.

-His Eminence may think whatever he pleases. – The agent replied with the same quiet voice. – It doesn't have to be true, though. Father Katt, I was looking for you.

_That voice… she has to be woman. In all those loosely fit robes one can barely tell. _

-So your boss is craving to get me interrogated as well? – Ascol hummed, trying to keep the worst away from his thoughts.

-Not exactly. – Answered the agent. – They asked me to bring you for a brief talk, nothing more. Nobody is going to hurt you.

-"Bring" me? Does that mean that you a going to use force, if I'm not cooperating? – The executor studied her delicate figure for a moment.

-They didn't order me to fight you, father Katt. You may refuse, but she said this is quite important.

-She? – Ascol nearly choked. – Hold on a minute, are you saying that I'm going to talk with Her personally?

-True. She wishes to see you, father Katt. As soon as possible, while we still have time. – Agent insisted. – Please, follow me, the car is ready.

_Personally… no, impossible. _

_Almost nobody has seen that abomination in the flesh… _

-Alright, you sold me. – Ascol surrendered, talking to her with his usual smug tone. – I'm going to skip my dinner that way… but whatever, meeting Her is worth a little trouble. Lead the way.

The figure quickly nodded and walked down the corridor.

-So what's your name?

-They didn't give me a name yet…

-How so?

Silence. Ascol decided to drop the sensitive issue and recalled the way she introduced herself at their first meeting.

-Erm… whatever you say… number seven.

* * *

The entire time they were in transit Ascol counted minutes passing. He was blindfolded so the only thing he could do was to try and remember how much time it takes them to reach the destination. Afterwards he might be able to estimate the location of the Agency hideout. Nevertheless, they might be changing the location frequently and the it would be empty next time he tries to walk in…

The agent took his hand and walked him out of the car.

_It__'__s __ice__-__cold__…_

…And dragged him forward, grumbling about something under her voice.

-Stop.

Ascol reached out with his hand and touched the wall in front of him. Some kind of a sign plate, probably bronze...

That narrows down the list somewhat.

-Don't move around, please.

The communicator made an unpleasant squeak.

-Who? – A rasped, tired voice.

-I've brought Owl. Get the room ready.

-She will receive him at her room. – The communicator replied. – Come in.

The door opened with a creak.

-Please, follow me. Hurry, father Katt, we are running late as it is.

-If not for this blindfold, I'd…

-If not for the blindfold, you'd never be allowed to leave this place. You will be allowed to take it off when we descend further.

For about ten more minutes they wandered through the unseen corridors and Ascol tried his best to remember the way.

_Ha, as is they would let me leave if something goes wrong… _

_But __still__…_

_Right__, __left__, __left__, __forward__. __A__door__. __A__lift__. __Three __stairways __down__. __Left__. __Forward__. __Right__… _

-Have you found a new friend, Elesia? – Some sneering, childish voice asked. – And here I thought you were beyond hope. Did you cover your eyes so that he doesn't run away too soon?

-Shut up, Merm. Go to your room. – The agent's voice seethed with such cold rage, that even Ascol shivered. – Or else…

-Okay-dokey. Just don't tell him what happened to your other friends. And your parents. Screw that, don't tell him anything…

-Leave.

-By the way, you are late. You gonna get your buns burned!

-Father Katt, let's go. Quickly.

_Another __long __corridor__. __Left, forward, a door and left again… _

-Who was that?

-Nobody. Stop. You may take off the blindfold here.

Ascol tore off the black cloth and found himself in a long, barely lit corridor, in front of a huge, armored door – even bigger than the bank vault doors. He counted at least ten mechanical bolts and shutters, but it must have been stuffed with electronics too…

He thought it might not be enough.

After all, the woman he was going to be introduced to took down three Apostle Ancestors.

_And brought them in alive. _

-You will enter first, and I shall follow. Do not pay me any attention during the talk as I don't have a right of speech here yet.

-You...

-Just a moment.

The agent typed in a long code on a panel in the wall and after a minute, the door came alive, slowly moving. The locks gritted and turned, the door hissed, trembled and flickered with warning lights.

The door slowly opened.

_All the hope abandon, ye who enter here..._

-Please go on through, father Katt.

Beyond the door was a spacious chamber – clean, luminous, decorated with antique paintings and tapestries. Hollow armor suits stood beside the bookshelves with their swords and axes set on the floor, as if guarding them. There was a wooden table at the far wall, covered with heaps of paper and even further – leaning against the wall, stood a large sofa.

The agent, escorting Ascol, typed another code on a similar panel inside the chamber and the door slowly closed. After making sure everything is going as expected, Number Seven slipped into the shadows to sit down in a small, worn armchair. Her entire pose showed her desire to be left out of the conversation.

-So you came at last. – The hostess grumbled.

Her appearance didn't even slightly resemble the monster Ascol came to expect, after hearing about all her exploits. A middle-aged woman in a baggy purple cowl, her long hair was tumbled and partially covered her face, there were no weapons in sight, no symbols of office – everything was plain and without theatrics… maybe even a bit too plain.

-Have a seat, Katt. – She pointed to a chair across her table. – Forgive the lack of snacks, but I didn't invite you here for a cup of tea.

-I wasn't expecting it anyway. – The way she looked didn't exactly promote formal speaking, no matter how grim the rumors surrounding her were. And so Ascol dared to keep his usual plain and slightly smug tone. – To what do I owe the honor?

-To the simple fact, that you are sent after the Hollow Blach. – The Agency head cut straight to business, rising in Ascol's eyes even more. – Your grudge against Julian the Raving is a welcome addition.

-So I take it Vert managed to make a nuisance of himself even to you?

-Unless he stops poking his nose in our business, I'll dispose of him within the next six months. And yes, Katt, you heard me correctly. I know you won't tell anybody.

-Because I'm not leaving this place alive? – The phrase slipped Ascol's tongue.

-Why of course not. What's the point wasting my time on a dead man? It just so happens that I know you'd like to get at Julian yourself, but lack the resourcefulness. I, however, do not. We a outside your rotten system and above it's laws. We can skewer any bishop on a Key and none shall raise a voice.

-I'm impressed. – The executor carefully remarked. – But you didn't invite me here to demonstrate the power of your office, right?

-True. I ordered to bring you here because you can expedite matters I'm concerned with, Katt.

-And how exactly could I do that? – Ascol tried to relax in his big leather chair, but it wasn't so easy under the piercing gaze of his companion.

-Won't you even try to refuse? A pity, it gets so boring when people agree with me so quickly. I don't know if it's fear or something else. You are afraid of me too, aren't you? Face it.

-Well… I'm certainly not keen on getting shot in the head the moment this conversation goes sour. Still, you don't look like an evil incarnate to me.

-I like your answer. You might suffice for the job. Anyway, let's get to business. – The Agency head pulled a folder from the heap of papers and opened it. – They didn't tell you what was that Hollow nicked, did they?

-No. But that guy from the Atlas…

-The Atlas would stop at nothing to get their hand on this item. As would any other branch of the Association for that case. That's exactly why the Agency can't spare anyone for this task – we have to cover the most vulnerable spots.

-Do you anticipate an incursion?

-The Association may take such risk. There's too much at stake right now.

-So what has Blach got his hands on?

-The Sphere. – Narbareck answered plainly.

-Excuse me...

-Here is a photo. An old one, to be sure, but still…

Ascol leaned forward and took an old picture with an ID number in a corner.

It was, indeed, a sphere. An orb, made of some strange pale metal, completely covered with some ornamental scriptures – Ascol had never seen any language quite like it before.

_Looks like a lucky 8 ball. I can't believe everything started because of this piece of junk… _

-We know of neither this thing's origins, nor its intended purpose. – The Agency head said, anticipating Ascol's questions. – The language of the writings proved impossible to translate as well.

-Where did it…

-The Sphere was found on the ocean floor, during the time the Association as we know it today didn't exist. There were only small, separated mage covens, which wandered the world. As the time passed, it ended up in the Wandering Tomb, buried in the depths of the reliquaries department. All research attempts for the last thousand years proved fruitless. However, the dwellers of the Tomb somehow found a few bit of information from some ancient chronicles… if not for those, the damned orb would be long-forgotten by now. But in those texts, it was written that it can grant power. The power on unimaginable scale. One only had to find a way to unlock it. They spent centuries, trying to find the solution. The brightest minds came from far and wide to try their luck at activating the damned trinket and finding the truth behind it. But all of them left with no results. As far as my sources informed me, last time they tried to crack it in the XVI century… After that, the Tomb gave up. They put the Sphere back into the depths and forgot about it. But now…

-Do we know, how did Hollow manage to…

-Partially. He was the laughing stock for the whole Tomb. Junior office assistant in the reliquary department, barely able to walk even with his crutches. They say here, that on his nineteenth birthday he was given an old wheelchair and a room somewhere on the lower levels, so that the "true" mages wouldn't have to meet this disgraceful wreck in the corridors. For years he was busy with paperwork, to the point they saw him as a piece of furniture. The department head pointed out that it all started with recurring late arrivals. Albert started spending more and more time on the lower floors, where the Tomb keeps all the useless junk, which is too dangerous to simply destroy. And then one day he suddenly starts walking around on his healthy, normal legs.

-Didn't anybody ask him how in hell could he manage that?

-He told them he found and used some old recipe… Nobody cared about him at this point so the interest died down in a couple of days. And then he gave them a bloodbath. About fifteen dead among the reliquary department, and a dozen apprentices… He evoked an explosion of such power that a few tunnels collapsed and a whole dorm block was cut off, leaving the denizens to starve or suffocate. Then, he stole a boat and escaped…

-They followed him, of course.

-Certainly. But all the teams were lost. Only the remains of their transports were found. – The Agency head passed the folder to Katt. – Take a look. Here you will find all we know concerning the incident as of today. More precisely – everything the mages of the Wandering Tomb could provide us with. Did you have a look at Julian's report on the murders in the Vatican?

-Of course.

-And what can you say, Katt?

-He used a broad-ranging spectrum of magecraft. It doesn't resemble a professional style, which usually prefers a small set of reliable methods, more like… Like the killer flaunted his powers in each case, tried something differed every time.

-Continue. – The Agency head didn't show a slightest interest in what he said.

-They were important lumps from the Vert's office. None of them were in any way connected to the old Hollow case – it was confirmed already by the Julian's men. Each of them was important to the Church, but not indispensible.

-What was the aim of this attack, Katt? – The tone Narbareck asked with, almost implied it was Ascol, who attacked them.

-Destabilization of the whole power structure, possibly with intention to break the masquerade. Panic, confusion, turmoil. If he were to seek personal vendetta for the injuries he was himself responsible for, he would hunt not these people, but… us. My squad. And especially me.

-But Blach didn't know your whereabouts. So he left you a message – screaming, stupid and betraying his identity to anyone and everyone… and what does that mean?

-He has no time to spare on his personal vengeance with me, but he craves for it anyway. – Said Ascol after thinking for a moment. – That's why Hollow Blach starts a slaughter at the very heart of Vatican and leaves his business card, knowing that now, if I'm still alive, they will dig me up and fill in on the situation. I'd be sent after him. And that way he'd be able to fulfill his revenge without getting side-tracked from his main goal. The question is – what's he trying to do?

-We are already working on that matter, Katt, you don't have to worry about that. Now let's talk about what you 're going to do.

-Will you too, threaten me with the crematorium?

-Why bother? We don't like empty threats here. Our policy is to cut straight to business. Besides, there's a much better motivator for you – an opportunity to rub your victory in Vert's face. – The Agency head put her hands in front of her and leaned forward. – So will you listen to me? Or shall we throw you out now?

-I'm listening. – Katt exhaled after a minute. – But what you are going to ask of me is already obvious. You want that goddamn metal ball Hollow has.

-Trivial, yet true. However I also need Blach himself, alive. To get the secret of activating it.

-Anything goes, eh? – Asked Katt with a grin.

-Indeed. We need to know how did he manage to unlock it's power, how could the Sphere empower Blach and what time of power it was, what is it he can do after the contact with the orb… we need to know _everything,_ Katt. Of course, under no circumstances that "everything" can be allowed to become known to the Association.

-Soon we will be sent for Blach's head. And you want me to bring him in alive and with the damn Sphere.

-Correct. In that case our advantage will be great enough to…

-I refuse. – Ascol rasped, raising on his feet. – Excuse me, but this is something you'll have to do yourselves.

Katt was surprised by the lack of angry response or threats he was so used to hearing.

-I know why you respond like that. You were already used for one such task, in the 87, ruining your career.

-If you know that, then you also know I'm not keen on discussing it.

-The situation is different, Katt.

-Oh really? And how exactly? – Ascol let the anger get the best of him, losing control. – Everything seems just like back then – you get an urge for some shit to give you an advantage over the Association in your own bloody cold war. And you don't give a single flying fuck about the true nature of what you see as an advantage…

-It's different this time, Katt. – Narbareck repeated. I send you for a magical mechanism. Julian Vert sends you for a living being.

_Blue __eyes __without __pupils__. _

_A __dripping __sound__._

_The wild roaring of the chopper, shooting at the building with all its guns…_

Enough.

Enough.

Enough.

-I know, what did you do back then, Katt. You tried to hide it so desperately, that the truth found its way to the surface…

-Shut up.

-I don't ask for impossible things, like Vert. Get the mage and bring him to me. That's all.

-And what are you going to offer in exchange?

-A little help with Hollow Blach. – Narbareck waved her hand. – Number seven!

The agent rose from her seat and slowly walked towards the table, her heavy boots making the floor boards creak. She approached and stood on the right from her superior.

-Let me introduce you, Katt, this is our new toy. We haven't decided upon the name yet, there's but one suggestion… who was it… ah, _Ciel. _Means "Sky" in French, if I'm not mistaken. A bit too flashy for my tastes. – The Agency head pulled a drawer and dropped a huge sidearm on the table. – Don't worry, Katt, it's not for you.

-Than what…

_You were wrong to come here. She's a complete psycho. _

-Have a seat, please. – She waited until slowly sunk in his chair and then Narbareck clicked the safety lock and turned to the Seventh. – Show me your face.

The girl's face, covered by the cowl until now, was only in Ascol's sight for a couple moments.

Before he knew it, the the pistol went off crack.

The girl was shot right between the eyes and slowly slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail.

-What the hell are you doing? – Ascol forgot all the rules and instructions, jumped from his seat and was ready to dive for the nearest cover – what if this mad bith is going to target him next?

-Please don't make a scene. She is perfectly fine. – The Agency head put the smoking gun aside and pointed at the body. – See, she's twitching?

-Convulsions. What the fuck do you…

Ascol fell silent, as he saw the massive hole in the Seventh's forehead slowly closing.

_Lovely__. __A __vampire__? __Or is it something even worse? _

-What… what is this thing?

-Oh, her? The skin, left behind by The Serpent of Akasha. – Narbareck laughed softly. – A walking paradox. We haven't yet grasped the nature of this phenomenon, even though we tried about six hundred different ways of killing her… none of which worked, unfortunately.

-Six hundred? – The number overwhelmed even the seasoned executor of the Church. You've killed her six hundred times?

-Oh, much more. I kill her couple of times a day if I get bored. – The Agency head spoke with no regard for her suffering, as if she was talking about making tea. – The world itself denies her death. And if our researchers are correct, it will continue to do so, for as long as the one, who wore her skin is still alive. The Infinite _Reincarnator_, founder of our department. As you understand, extinguishing his life completely is a task beyond trivial…

Ascol continued to watch as the girl, whose wound has disappeared entirely, stood up, her face kept the same indifferent look.

-Absolutely indestructible. Of course, she has yet to be trained and equipped, but she will be our trump card soon.

-You…

-If you accept my proposal, I shall leave her under your command. If there is somebody, who can actually take Hollow Blach alive, it's her. You just have to track him down and let her off the leash. So what do you say? Deal?

-I say "How do I open your goddamn door?"

* * *

Coss closed his apartment door and fumbled around for a moment, looking for the switch. He turned on the lights and went to the room, dropping his overcoat on the floor as he walked.

He went to the bathroom, took a cold shower and, after covering his body with an oversized bathrobe with the hotel's emblem on it – stood in front of a mirror for a few minutes, examining his face. He felt chills and needed a fix. And a drink. Also, preferably, a woman.

Unfortunately, he only had time for a fix.

Until he met the agents of the Church, he used to shoot up his inner thigh – just in case, so that his arms would be clean. But now they were transported in a _completely _new way, so the precautions were no longer needed. He stretched on a soft leather sofa and took out his injector. The tiny window on its side showed a single black strip. The last one.

A large gem, resembling a big chunk of quartz, rested on the glass stand. Suddenly, it started to turn red. Coss ignored it and slowly buried the needle in his arm…

The gem – already bloody crimson in color – started to emit a low hum. Coss knew all too well that if he ignores it any longer, the stone will wail loud enough to wake up the whole hotel.

Forced to pull the needle out and throw the injector to the floor, Coss grabbed the rock with both hands in a rage, pressing it against his face. Closed his eyes. Listened. Tried to keep thoughts about the drug from his consciousness.

_Report__. _

-Their squad is almost ready. – Coss whispered. – All goes as planned for now.

_Are __you __ready__? __Do __you __have __all __you __need__? _

-I'm hurt, sir. Of course everything is ready.

_You have to bring in Blach as soon as possible. Time is wasting. London has already sent enforcers. The Wandering Tomb also reactivated some of its continental contacts. _

-Who am I to expect?

_We don't know yet. What __about__ "__Dogma__"? _

-There won't be any complications. If you wish, I can take first steps to deal with them already.

_Do so. Estimated __time__? _

-A month. However, premature activation is also possible. What should I bind it to?

_The choice is yours. I remind that you as of this moment, you are in control of "Sekbmet"__. If the situation proves critical – don't hesitate to call upon them. _

-Understood. Anything else?

_This mission is your careers decisive point. Prove us we were right to spare your life back then. _

Coss grit his teeth out of spite – fortunately, the gem had no way of sending along that bit of information _there_.

-I serve the wisdom of Atlas. Speak to you later.

The gem tumbled to the floor – the carpet muffled the sound of impact.

How dare they?

He did for them more, than all of theirs damned agents managed in fifty years!

And still they…

A memory flashed in his mind.

_He was beaten, bloodied, starved to the point of having a concave stomach, dragged himself along the narrow mountain pass…_

_Flashlights beaming in his face. Screams in different languages. Some people in purple rags, bearing emblems, same as the one he now bears too… _

Coss only calmed down, when he could return to his drug and finish the business.

* * *

Kirik Brunillio, an aspiring executor, raged himself through the corridor, bent under the weight of his huge black bag. His left hand held a sweaty crumpled note, where he scribbled the names of the people he needed.

He pressed against the heavy door, opening it barely enough to slip through, onto a helipad of considerable size. He dropped the bag and set down next to it, trying to catch his breath. As the Pontifical Gendarmerie stepped out of the helicopter and quickly cordoned the area off, he wiped sweat from his brow and tried to make out the smeared letters.

At last, two passengers stepped out of the chopper. A blond man with a sickly pale face, wrapped in pale beige coat walked first. He had only a small briefcase in his left hand. The right one, slightly sticking out of his coat, was resting on a tough-looking frame, wrapped in soft cloth.

_Why would we ever need a cripple? What's the point… _

When Kirik looked at the calm face of the cripple, he noticed that the passenger kept his eyelids half-closed, as if sunlight hurt his eyes. The second guest was an exact opposite of the first one: if the cripple had long hair, this one was wearing a short military haircut. The maimed man's face was calm and kind-looking, his gray eyes were lazy. By the contrast, the second man's face showed nothing but irritation and a bunch of old scars. If that wasn't enough, he was wearing an old, worn and dirty leather jacket with an aloha shirt of a sickening palette underneath, had a cigarette in his teeth… and finally, a massive revolver in a holster. The bag he hauled was also much bigger than the one Kirik had, but he held it with surprising ease…

-Erm, excuse me. – Kirik begun when the arrivals came near him. – Sir Renier Gar… gar…

-Gardeston. – Blonde man helped. – And this is Eric Grey.

-Torch. – He smiled and extender his hand in a fingerless glove for a handshake. – And you must be our reinforcements? You look kinda weak.

-Kirik B… – Candidate for executor started, only to be interrupted by Torch.

-Save your breath. We know your name. Whisper called and brought us up to speed. – Erik turned to his companion and smiled, showing his yellow teeth. – Say hello to our greenhorn, glass boy.

He only gave him a long, tired and disdainful look and turned his attention to Kirik.

-Where's Owl? – Renier's voice was quiet and cold. – Where is father Ascol?

-He was… He went for some urgent business. – Kirik flinched, just like when Katt called him and told he was "riding from the Burial". – He'll return in about an hour. I was ordered to meet and escort you to His Eminence Julian…

-As if we don't know where that old dick is. – Erik spit a huge glob on the floor. – Well if you were ordered it can't be helped. Go ahead, lead us.

-Of course, sure… – Kirik struggled to swing his bag over the shoulder for a moment and limped to the doors. – We are running late already…

A trip with the two former Dogma operatives wasn't as scary as Kirik thought. Renier, a.k.a. Shard, as the blonde was referenced in the service documents, was exactly the person he seemed to be at the first glance. From the moment they stepped into the car he didn't utter a single word beyond asking to turn down the music and for Erik to stop smoking at last. Torch, however, carried himself in such a way one would want to kick him out of the car. Erik Grey scattered profanities like a trooper, was delivering cheap jokes in some disgusting accent and overall reminded Kirik greatly of father Ascol, if the latter were to utterly lose his restraints. One could only imagine, how those two could bear with each other…

They were late. So very, very late, damn it.

And that's why they ran at nearly full speed when crossing the last few meters to the office.

Nevertheless, when Kirik had finally opened the office doors and dashed inside, he understood that during his absence something very serious has happened and nobody cared about him being late.

Ascol, Whisper an agent from the Atlas, even cardinal Vert… they all gathered around a few glum Vatican clercs, who nuzzled into computer screens, all in some hot dispute.

-What happened? – Even Renier raised his voice above the usual near-whispering.

-It's Hollow. – Julian Vert said loud and clear, so the late trio would hear him. – Two hours ago we had a report from Cologne, Germany. The Blachs mansion came under attack. No survivors.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4. Everybody home.**

_Today's guests -_

_The finest and best._

_To them their graves -_

_Provide no rest._

(Black Obelisk – Ave, Caesar)

The weary lorry stopped, it's engine rustle slowly dying down. The dirty door clapped and a tough-looking man jumped down onto moist, cold ground. He looked about forty years old and the freezing wind made him cover in his coat for whatever meager protection it could provide. His pale face, partially covered with dirty, oily hair wasn't a strange sight, however his eyes… oh, those eyes were best avoided like plague. The man would be quite similar to the characters from film noire, popular around ninety-forties, if – again – not for his eyes. Fortunately for him, nobody could notice them because it was dead night.

He walked to the rear door of his lorry, feet slapping against the mud, whispering curses through his clenched teeth. At last, he managed to slowly pull the large iron coffin halfway out of the truck. The coffin was covered in countless paper charms with strange symbols; some of them were faintly flickering in the dark.

-Thought I'd have to wait here till the Second Advent for you. – A voice mocked him.

The truck driver turned around to see a man, standing at a respectful distance. His appearance fit the description his client gave him to the point: gray hair, a filthy face, a single eye…

-Freri Lann, I presume? – Red-eyed man asked in a sullen tone.

-No, I'm the Queen of Britain. – The half-blood answered, clearly irritated. – And you must be Epnord?

-Riar will do. – Red-eyes pulled the coffin from the truck. – So are you going to help me or what?

-How about you ask nicely first? – Lann grumbled, approaching the vehicle. – Alright, careful now…

The two companions rose the coffin on their shoulders – Epnord looked like the burden was significantly less on his shoulders – and hauled it to some glum-looking two-storey building with nailed-up windows.

-So is this the dirtiest hole he could find? – Epnord panted with disgust. – I swear, to crawl into such a backwater asshole…

-The guy just wasted his parents. – Freri snorted. – So he's laying low for a while. By the way, red-eyes, what's it the box? A kindred of yours?

-Nah. Just a stiff from the Clock Tower. Lord Try-Pronounce-My-Fucking-Name.

-So why the hell our client needs him?

-Like I would know. Blach promised me a quarter of his family's wealth in return for this goner so here we are. You wouldn't believe the charades I had to go through to get him out of the special repository… Careful now! Here, put it down right here!

The two companions placed the coffin on the floor near the door.

-So shall we open it? – Epnord searched his pockets for the cigarettes. – Damn. D'you have any smokes?

-Let's finish the business first. – Freri jingled his keys, and then gave the door a hearty kick. – Come on in, dear guest. 

* * *

A big and spacious room. Bright fluorescent lamps, a large metal table in the center and tightly shuttered windows. Two smaller tables held a variety of instruments that would make any torturer or surgeon green with envy. Freri and Epnord carried the coffin inside and put it on the floor, panting with strain.

-Knife. – Said Epnord, glancing at Lann.

After Riar got what he wanted, he started carefully shaving off the seals, whispering something under his nose.

-You sure it won't zap us?

-Stand back if you want. – Epnord finished with the paper charms and easily pierced the surprisingly soft metal.

Lann heard a soft hiss – the coffin was air-tight.

-My, this one's packed tight. Who was this big cheese exactly? – Lann said lazily.

-Honorable lord Zaharia Silverstein – Albert Blach announced the title.

Alber was wearing a gray robe, which was long enough to drag on the floor. His face was dribbling cold water.

-You were swift, Riar. – He politely nodded to Epnord. – Hah, I even had no time to wipe my head… Please, put the body on the table. Take off his upper clothes – I won't need his legs yet. Don't touch the seals on his face and if there are any needles in his head – don't take them out no matter what.

Albert took mental steps though his work, while his orders were carried out. He purified himself as much as possible – washed his body, rubbing it sore, didn't eat anything since he woke up and wore the clothes he found in his family's estate – they plain and colorless, to make sure nothing distracts the wearer from the task at hand…

They took a man from the coffin – average height, gray hair, a short beard, slightly protruding ears and big green eyes. There was a long thick needle stuck in each eye and the smaller ones were in the forehead – one right in the center and two more at the edges of the black seal drawn there.

-The body is well-preserved. – Noted Freri. – Surprisingly so.

-They took measures for that. – Said Albert, watching them take an expensive jade doublet off the cadaver. – Lord Silverstein happened to be born with a unique Circuit Pattern, so it was quite troublesome to remove his Magic Crest – even the specialists in the Clock Tower could find a way to extract without damaging it. That's why lord Silverstein was not sent "under the bridge" in an urn, but is still here with us and even mostly intact.

-And what about the needles and seals? – Asked Freri.

-A desperate attempt to keep his soul in the body. – Albert sighed. – Those idiots have no idea what a torturous existence they've forced upon it. Twenty years in a meat slab, covered in alchemical muck, sealed in an air-tight coffin, with no sight, no smell, no touch… denied even final death.

-I've worked for Clock Tower guys. – Lann continued to study the corpse. – But I didn't hear about this goon. What did he do?

-Oh, he was quite a story back in the Sea of Astray. – Albert sat on the lone stiff chair near the wall. – An ambitious project to be sure. Gentlemen, you see a man, who was going to conquer the Great Britain in a single night.

-How? – Lann exhaled.

-The Association often bestows lands, rich with spiritual energy upon the worthy magus dynasties. Places, where the prana is so abundant, any spell can be cast if the magus is proficient enough. Of course, having a workshop in such an area is very, very desirable. And of course, everyone builds one… Lord Zaharia developed a method of direct access to the ley-lines. He was going to take control over them and send a certain "signal" through the weave. That signal would give him total control over the spiritual lands and every big cheese, sucking on the earthblood would be obliterated. Imagine the fireworks. Zaharia planned a revolution in the magus society, he wanted to extinguish the lives of all the leaders of the Association.

-Oh, now I remember. – Epnord chuckled. – They say the enforcer squad took him down the day before he planned his ritual – they dragged him right out of his bed. None of this would certainly happen, were it not for his wife, who dispelled all the protective charms of their mansion. She made a cool-headed decision to sell out her husband in order to get a promotion, instead of being a queen of the blasted lands.

-So did she get her promotion? – Asked Freri.

-That she did. Unfortunately, two months later she died tragically in a totally unrelated accident. – Epnord gave the half-blood a meaningful gaze. – And so none of that cursed ancient family remain.

-Actually, this is where you are wrong. – Albert noted. – They had a daughter, she was very little at the time. I think they even had mercy on her – she didn't understand a shit about what happened then and regardless – after her father was arrested there was no way in hell she could get her hands on his Crest. She lives in a mundane family now… We'll have to find her if Zaharia won't be able to tell me what I want to know.

-Tell you? – Epnord asked scoffingly. – Don't tell me you can resurrect the dead.

-Resurrect – no. – Alber answered completely seriously. – At least not in the condition for a sound interrogation. But I can still ask questions and he will answer me. I'm going to start right now. You can watch of course, but I will ask you to at least stand back. There… have a seat over there, but don't you distract me. Okay?

-I'm not going anywhere until you pay me. – Said Epnord. – Freri?

-I've never seen a necromancer in action yet. – Lann scratched his teeth with a claw. – I'm certainly not going to pass up on a free circus show.

_I'll give you a show, you freaks…_

Albert came up to the table, followed Freri and Epnord with his gaze and, after they both sat down, spoke again, this time loud and clear.

-My family was – above all else – the necromancers. From an outsiders perspective our way may seem somewhat of a perversion, but still… - Albert put his right hand on the dead man's face and continued. – I see no reason to tell either of you my family secrets, but nonetheless it's necessary to tell you what I'm going to do here… if only to make sure you won't interrupt me in the middle of the rite…

The Hollow took a couple deep breaths and spoke again, tapping on the corpse's forehead.

-Everything leaves a mark. Every item soaks up the information about its surroundings, holds it inside. Each item remembers the people who used it, the centuries it lived through… one only has to correctly read it off the said item. And if even soulless junk can tell a story, imagine what can tell a live, sentient being? Well, almost live. Let's say the one, which was alive just a little while ago.

-So you can only do your trick on the recently deceased corpse? – Asked Epnord.

-Yes, you are right. – Albert nodded. – Our family always aspired to pinpoint the moment mind leaves the body or, more exactly – when the soul leaves the body. To grasp it. Follow its path. Follow it to the root of the place where everything begins and ends. To touch the Root, while still being alive. But during our search, we've found a number of curious things…

While still holding his left hand on the dead man's face, Albert took a sinister-looking twister metal rod in his right one.

-I shall begin. From this point on I ask you not to utter a single word, no matter what you see.

Albert left the rod near the corpse's head and closed his eyes. One of his hands continued to feel the dead face, while the other one grabbed the needle, sticking from the eye. Slowly, gradually, millimeter by millimeter he pulled it out.

Eyes shut, Albert dived into his memories…

_He is sitting at the big oak table – he is just a child. There was a little bird there – pinned to the table with two nails, crucified. He swallowed his tears – they gave him this sparrow a week ago – he covers in fear, unable to look back. The giant figure of his father stands tall behind him, throwing orders in a monotonous voice._

_-Now cut it open. Break its wings, tear its feathers, squash its brain… _

At last, Albert took out the first needle. A moment later he yanked out the second one, this time without a slightest hesitation. He threw it away, without ever opening his eyes.

Blach continued to sit in his strange trance and then suddenly jumped to his feet and kicked the chair to the wall. He grabbed the twisted rod and thrust it into the dead man's belly with all his might. Freri had his share of macabre habits, including drinking of human blood, but even he was disgusted seeing how the insane mage leans over the body, still leaking corpse gas.

-He's fucking sick. – Lann whispered to Epnord.

When the pierced belly finally gave up all its gas, Albert jerked the rod out – still keeping his eyes shut. He reveled in the smell of death, whispered unintelligibly and tilted his head back from time to time.

Blach grabbed a large scalpel and started slicing convulsively and without clear pattern at the deceased body's chest. Somehow, it took just a few moments to open the chest cavity, as Albert's blade dived back and forth across the body. The tension in the air was almost tangible, Albert roared like an animal, guiding the blade forwards, cutting through the tissue, severing the muscles in the attempt to reach the gaster. The moment scalpel was no longer needed, Blach threw it away and without a slightest hesitation plunged his arms right into the cadaver, pulling at the wounds edges. He leaned in even lower, his hands were trembling as he studied the corpse's insides, finally opening his eyes. Freri made a scoffing remark at the expression Albert wore on his face.

-He's a necrophile, not a necromancer. – Half-blood slightly pushed Epnord with his shoulder.

-Hush. – Riar closely watched the ritual with his bloody eyes, determined not to skip a smallest detail.

Blachs face was already grayish pale, but it showed only exaltation. Albert smelled the intestines, rolling his eyes like a madman, mumbled something under his nose and every now and then tore pieces from the body, bringing them close to his face and then throwing them away in disappointment. Freri wasn't sure, but it seemed as though Blachs fingers started to glow… Five minutes later the floor in the room was covered in gore, other pieces of the body were hanging from the table.

-No, no, no… - Blach whispered. – It's not what I need… wrong, wrong…

Albert picked a small bone saw and began cutting the body anew, he grabbed pieces of the gore and smeared them over his face, howling louder and louder. Blood poured down the floor.

It was the time to use a bigger saw. Albert slashed at the chest until the blade broke – and again, let out an inhumane howl, full of disappointment. Half a minute later he screamed again, this time overflowing with joy as he yanked out the heart. Blach thrashed as if in a seizure, his fingers clenched the dead heart of the honorable lord Zaharia Silverstein stronger and stronger. Tears of joy and relief poured from Albert's eyes.

-Yesss… - He moaned, squashing the heart with all his might.

A pop and spatter.

-But it's not enough…

Albert yanked the last three needles from the forehead of mutilated corpse and grabbed a pair of strange instruments from his stand. When one of them pushed against Zaharia's forehead, Freri understood what was about to happen.

Strike. Crack. Brain fluid sprayed across Albert's face.

Again he howled, rolling his eyes.

-Where did you hide it!? Where? – Blach screamed. – Where is the true center?

One more strike. A huge nail dives deeper and deeper into the skull.

-Where?! Where is the true center? – Freri never heard such a bestial fury in Alberts voice yet. – Where did you hide it, you filth?

Again he strikes. More cracking. The lord's head falls apart.

-Aha… so that's how it goes… Oh like hell you are going to hide from me! You hear me? Hear? I'll hold you here until you tell me everything! I won't let you slip away! You'll be here, you old motherfucker!

Albert dropped his tools and wobbled, stepping backwards. His arms hung lifelessly along his bloodied, shivering body. In a minute or so, all strength left him and his body dropped to the floor.

-All… - Blach moaned. – He told me all of it. I had to… let him go…

He barely remembered how his companions dragged him to the bathroom and then gave him a few gulps of liquor from Epnord's stash.

* * *

Albert Blach walks down the abandoned buildings corridors – slowly, cautiously. He was never the bold one, but a bet is a bet… he wasn't going to lose it to his brother.

Albert didn't know, what was here before. Some offices, vacant for ten years, if not more…

There were rumors, surrounding this place.

They said it was "wrong".

Even worse than "wrong".

There were, of course, those, who fancied the danger of such places. They often broke their legs as the stairways gave beneath them, fell into the lift shafts and broke their necks. And there also was a rumor about something… living here.

That thing appeared almost as soon as the building was closed.

Normal people avoided this place. Sane people didn't try to get inside…

But that only concerns those who are both "normal" and "people".

And as we know, Albert wasn't a human – even as a child, he already knew what set him apart from mundane people. And he took pride in his birthright.

He is a magus. To fear such things is beneath him…

Besides, there is a matter of a bet.

Albert was on the third floor out of eight, when he heard _that. _

A monotonous recitation, coming from everywhere and nowhere, clear, terrifying… spelling word after word in an unknown language. That voice made the walls tremble.

His first thought was to run, his second was to hide. When Albert heard heavy footsteps coming from below – somebody walked upstairs – he had no choice but to do both.

He cowered in a dirty, dusty corner – the torn and dirty shirt was going to cost him a scene back home. – Albert hid behind a pile of rubble and watched through the large hole as a group of people in black robes entered the floor. The strangers slowly uncovered their faces.

An unbelievably tall woman, simply huge. A glum dark-haired man with a cigarette in his mouth – one would be hard-pressed to imagine him with a smile. A tall pale guy with one hand covered in white cloth. Then, there was a slightly dwarfish man, the only one to wear a dark gas mask and a military uniform, albeit with no marks of distinction. He had a machine gun in his hands. Another one, with an angry face, played with his blade… all of them had large crosses, hanging from their necks, contrasting against the dark blue color of their uniform.

Pressing his body against the pile of trash, Albert held his breath. Yes, he was but a child, but _those _were known to all sound children – in the regular magus families of course.

Executors.

Machines to kill those such as him.

-Whisper, Renier – upstairs. – The smoker uttered a few words through the clenched teeth. – Take him alive. Whip, we'll bring down the barriers, Torch – you will cover us. If we lose him again, the brass will flay me alive. And I'll do the same to all of you.

The voice, coming from everywhere in the building became louder by the minute.

-Whip? – the smoker hissed, coming forward.

-He noticed us right at the entrance. Covered the whole complex.

-Can we break through?

-I need time. And if we manage to kill him it will all come apart by itself.

-More like "when", not "if". – The woman laughed. – Are you coming?

-Sure. – Something gleamed in the smokers hand as he dropped the stub.

Albert watched the weird group walk away. They turned around the corner – the gunner walked last, keeping watch on his surroundings. Blach heard their steps – going upstairs…

Run.

Run for it.

After waiting for half a minute more just to be sure, Albert jumped out of his cover and dashed downstairs, blind with fear. He rushed, skipping stairs, ran into the corridor and reached for the doors…

…Only to smack his face into an invisible wall – pain from the impact was laced with even worse electric tingling which made his whole body hurt. Albert doubled over and fell to the cold dirty floor.

There were quite a few barriers back at home, and they were up almost all the time, but Albert was comfortable walking through them – because they weren't working at full power and also because he his father explained how to bypass them easily.

And now Blach felt, for the first time in his life, what's it like to feel a real shield which is attuned against interlopers. He'd never want to feel something like that again. Pain wreaked his every circuit, every bone. Thankfully, it quickly subsided and Blach managed to stand up and dust down. He was nearly panicking, but got a hold of himself… at least for a little while. So now he's locked inside. Brute forcing the barrier was out of question – it was clearly set up by a powerful and experienced magus…

The one those executors came for.

There were no doubts they would kill Albert too, if they find him here. He turned around, slowly studying the surroundings. The windows on the first floor were grilled. Maybe he should try jumping out from the second floor? He might get some nasty bruises and even break his neck if the fall turns out unlucky, but still, the chances of getting out of here in one piece were much better than if he were to stay here…

Albert Blach gathered all his courage and carefully sneaked back across the piles of rubble. He walk slowly, hugging the wall. Albert was sure nobody can hear him.

He was all the more surprised when the scary man in a gas mask rushed in from behind the corner, reached him in mere moments and struck him in the face with the gun butt before Blach could even scream…

Then, darkness came.

* * *

-Who did you drag here?

First thing he felt was pain. Pain in the swollen, beaten face, pain in the bound hands behind his back and all that pain was so strong he felt like his head was going to explode any minute…

-He was watching us. I let him go downstairs and then intercepted.

-So what are we gonna do with'em?

-Like you don't know what we do with the witnesses.

-Erik. We don't kill unless there's a reason to.

The reality in front of him finally came into focus.

It wasn't pretty. There was a body was beaten and bloodied, clothes ripped, pinned to the wall with a few sharp blades like a dead butterfly. The body was also twitching and it most likely would be accompanied by pained screams, if not for a piece of curtain in his mouth.

The lack of screaming was quickly supplemented by Albert himself, as soon as he had a good look at the people who crowded the room.

-Somebody shut him up already! – The gunman was without his mask and one could clearly see his bald, sweaty skull and his tired face. He took solid swing at Albert again.

-Stop it. – The smoker waves him off. – Whisper, are we done here?

-Yes sir. – The tall woman shakes some bag.

-Than finish him.

The crucified body wriggled and mumbled louder, shaking its head and trying to do anything to escape the horrid fate.

The woman swiftly stepped in and slit his throat. The body arched forward, twitching and splattering blood everywhere. Then it stopped and hung lifelessly, supported only by the blades.

-Reach the coordinator, tell him we have…

Albert yelled again, eyes wide with sheer terror.

-Don't do it! No! Don't kill me! – He shouted with all the remaining strength. – Please don't! I'm a mage! Blach! My family! They will pay! Don't! Please!

-A mage? – The "smoker" looked surprised. – This is getting interesting… Whisper, free him.

The woman, whose hands were still covered in blood, approached him. She didn't show any anger, like the bald man with the gun, but her indifference frightened Albert even more. Crying, he crawled back to the wall. Nobody cared to stop him, as they all knew he can't get away…

-Calm down, kid, don't struggle. – The "smoker" said, slowly raising his hand. – We'll take care of everything…

When Albert heard about "taking care" he lost it completely. Howling, he dashed to the doors – surprisingly enough, nobody tried to stop him.

-What are you waiting for?

-But the barrier…

-The barrier is gone already, you idiot.

-Whisper, get him back. But gently.

Albert Blach ran for his life. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it felt like it was going to burst out and escape on its own. The boy stumbled and wheezed, he tried his best not to fall and to make it to the stairway…

It wasn't his lucky day after all.

Some empty snack sachet got under his foot and Albert slid a few meters forward before falling down on his face, breaking his nose. Red droplets sprayed.

-Where the hell do you think you are going? – Nobody was going to…

_Why? Why me? Why here? Why is it LIKE THIS? _

_I don't want it. Don't want. Don't want it. _

_Why? _

_What did I ever do to them? _

_I'm not even a magus yet. I have no Crest. _

And then Albert Blach _remembered. _Indeed, he had a long way to become a fully fledged magus. And yes, he had no Crest and he wasn't going to get one soon. He had years upon years of study ahead of him. And he had no way of besting those cutthroats, not even one of them… But he might just try and protect himself.

He was reading so much…

His was beaten, nose broken, hands bound behind his back, but that… that thing, the one he read about, it only needed a few fingers to move…

And the words necessary were long ingrained in his memory.

The executor woman was already close. The gunman followed her; probably ready to put a bullet in his head after she cuts him open. Just to make sure…

-Stay back! – Albert cried, breaking tears. – Stand back! I'm a mage! You won't lay a finger on me! I'm a mage! A mage!

_A mage. _

_I can do it._

_I've read all about it…_

That thing was called "108 seals" or something like that. Albert always skipped the colorful names and passionate pseudo-philosophical muck, he only wanted cold, precise formulas that worked.

His bound hands desperately twitched, the bloodied lips whispered the words. Power began flowing from his fingertips up towards the head – and with it came the pain…

-Hey, what are you d…

The last word was still ringing in the air when Albert Blach was embraced by the fiery agony. The anguish was so strong he lost his voice entirely.

-Whisper, get away from him!

-No! Hold fire!

Everything melted away. Only blinding, searing pain remained.

_Is this… hell? _

Darkness.

He screamed in the darkness for so long… it seemed like eternity…

His silent screams pleaded for death – he just didn't know who to ask.

* * *

-I can't believe it… - His father's ragged voice felt strange somehow, he never heard him speak quite like this.

-We did all we could. He can breathe now, at least.

-Breathe, yes, but not channel magic. I've sent a pulse through him more than a dozen times now. He didn't even twitch.

-I regret to say, he tried to cast something way beyond his ability. I've never seen a case such as this…

-Your regrets aren't going to save him. What do I even do with him now?

-It's your problem, not ours. – A third voice entered the conversation. – Be thankful that he's alive.

-There is nothing to be thankful for. Do you understand what is he now?

-He's hollow.

_What…_

_They…_

_Are they talking about me? _

_Hollow. Hollow. Hollow. _

The word sliced through him mind, tearing it apart.

-Albert, what have you done?

_No. No. I don't want that. _

_I don't believe it._

_Let me go. Why? Why can't I move? Why can't I open my eyes? _

_Let me go. Let me go away. I don't want any of this. Any of this… _

_I'm not hollow._

_Not a hollow…_

_I AM NOT HOLLOW!_

* * *

-I'm not hollow! – Drowning in his cries, Albert Blach fell from his bed down to the carpet.

_Again… again this…_

-Hey! Everything alright there? – A few minutes later somebody bustled behind the door and then again, voices said:

-Albert! Talk to me!

-Everything… is fine. – Blach exhaled, still lying on the carpet. – Is Epnord there?

-And where would that fucker go? – Somebody sighed from behind the door. – Listen, how long are we gonna stay in this cesspool?

-Not long. Not anymore… - Albert glanced at the clock and slowly raised to his feet. – Tell Epnord to go get some food.

-Anything else, your Majesty? – The half-blood sneered.

-It's not for me. It's nearly midnight.

-So what?

-We are having guests.

* * *

As the rain poured on and on, Epnord felt more and more glum. He sat by the window and watched as his trucks wheels gradually sunk into a huge dirty puddle. By the morning this stuff will probably turn into a sticky bog and getting the truck out of there's gonna take an unholy amount of effort. What's worse, that damned psycho, Blach, was wrong about the guy with the money showing up at midnight. Then again, it wouldn't be surprising if Blach was mistaken – after all he got addled in the head after his defining accident. Or maybe the guest was smart enough to wait out the rain…

But damn if it wasn't 01:30 a.m. already!

Riar decided he had enough and went off to wash his face. He sadly noticed flakes of skin peel off his hands. The body reminded him that he has to continue killing. It couldn't happen at a worse time, really. Anyway, once he gets his money and comes back…

Sod's law manifested at its full glory, when somebody began knocking at the door right when Riar was going to finally relax and get another bottle.

_So the bastard did come… _

-What took you so goddamn long?! – Epnord angrily mumbled, jingling his keys. – Why in hell are you this late? What…

When the door opened somebody threw a drenched raincoat in his face.

-Where's Albert? – Stunned, Epnord heard the guest's soft voice. – I'm talking to you, coat-hanger.

-What the fuck are you…

Epnord dropped the raincoat and was taken aback by the sight of the guest, his rage immediately cooled down.

It was a she.

Thanks to his remarkably long lifespan, Riar learned to tell people apart and this particular lady struck him as both incredibly attractive and incredibly unpleasant. The first point was supported by her tall slim figure, lush brunette hair, her fairly pale, aristocratic face, which was by no means sickly. There also was, as Riar himself put it, a pair of other outstanding features. And my, were they outstanding. As luck would have it, they were counterbalanced by her sharp, thorny gaze, filled with disdain and tiredness worthy of somebody a couple of centuries old. But what scared him most was a peculiar tattoo – three towers in a ragged circle.

_Blood-soaked hell! She's one of them!_

Swallowing the words that almost slipped his tongue, Epnord rasped:

-A pleasure to meet you.

-I asked you a question. Where is Albert?

-Second floor, the room near the stairs. And you are…

-Hang the coat by the fire. And male me something to eat, we will have a supper later.

Epnord felt his blood boiling with rage. If she wasn't from that cursed bunch, he would probably already cover the walls with her intestines…

The guest swiftly walked upstairs and stopped, seeing the half-blood near the doors.

-Freri Lann. – She muttered. – I'm glad to see you in one piece.

-Somebody told you about me? – Freri startled. – Did Albert phone you?

-It was me, who gave you this job. Except that I only chose you because of your initials – such lucky coincidences are a passion of mine.

-So it was you? And Albert told me…

-Albert's still boastful as ever. – The lady laughed. – He may be a smart boy, but he has no connections. Except me.

-And who you might be?

-I'm the one who pays you. – She dropped a weighty pouch on Freri's knees. – Forgive me for not paying in the modern currency. I never found time to go and exchange all that stupid gold…

-Gold? – Lann opened the pouch. – Wait… there's…

The visitor passed by the half-blood, who desperately struggled to keep his jaw from falling out, and entered Albert's room.

-Where is she? – Epnord stormed upstairs, extremely alarmed. – Hey, I'm taking to you!

-She's with Blach. – The half-blood weaved him off. – Better take a look at what she payed us with!

-I wouldn't be so happy in your shoes. – Epnord screwed his face. – And it's not even because you won't be able to buy anything with that.

-Then what are you talking…

-Did you see the mark on her neck?

-Nope, why? – Lann preferred not to say that his eyes were mostly preoccupied with her other features.

-Well I did. I saw who she belongs too.

-And you think we should be scared of them?

-It's the Trio. – Said Epnord dully.

-Bullshit. – Blurted Lann, visibly pale. – They were all slaughtered long ago.

-Not all, it seems. – Riar almost whispered. – What do we know about them, except for rumors and gossips?

-Well, now that you've said it, we know nothing, really.

-I'm out of this. – Said Epnord. – Split the booty and I'm bailing out.

-Are you serious? – Freri laughed. – To think that you, a Dead Apostle, were frightened by that…

-If it was the Trio, who orchestrated Blach's recent shenanigans, the only reasonable thing to do is to get the hell out of here. She'd have to offer thrice that money for me to even consider working with her.

-So the things are looking _that _sour?

-Let's go downstairs, I'll tell you what I know. Don't want to talk under her nose…

* * *

The room was shrouded in twilight, allowing Albert's weary eyes to rest. It also made it harder to take a good look at his companion, who took a seat in a black leather armchair, just as black as her dress.

-I see you're quite well accommodated here. – She stretched words lazily. – How did your family meeting go?

-Like a funeral. – Blach bared his teeth. – Nevertheless, I've got almost everything I need, thanks to you, people.

-I hope you didn't forget what _I need? _

-Of course not. – Hastily added Albert. – I remember the deal.

-So where is my treasure? I'm longing to have it in my hands.

-As you wish, Fras. – Blach opened the cabinet and carefully took a weighty cardboard box.

-Exactly. As I wish. – She repeated. – I hope you didn't touch them?

-No. His ciphers are way beyond me and regardless, it looks like disintegrating at the slightest touch. – Blach left the box on the table and returned to his bed, where he sat cross-legged.

Fras opened the package and slowly pulled out a patch of old yellow paper sheets, patched together with a rope. She touched it, stroking slightly and let out a quiet soft sigh.

-Was it all for this? All for some papers of some old…

-Show some respect to my ancestor, Albert. – Her features immediately hardened. – And to me as well.

-Forgive me. I thought that now that I…

-Our business is done. – Fras put the papers back into the box, closed it and left it by the armchair. – I've got his diaries and you've got your weapon, your revenge and moreover, you now have a chance to turn the Association into dust.

-But there's something else I'd like to have. – Blach said with a grin.

-Oh, I'm sure of it. – Chuckled Fras. – Your eyes are just as hungry as when we met a few years back, but I don't have a slightest interest in you. Neither back then, nor now.

Albert's face stretched in a hideous grimace, but a few seconds later he regained composure and started fervently speaking, making wild gestures:

-I have changed! You…you said you aren't into cripples… but look at me! I'm different now, Fras! I can walk, can channel magic, I'm now among the most powerful magi in the whole world, damn it! What else could you desire?

-All your power is borrowed and we both know it. I see you as nothing more, but the same old…

-Don't you say it!

-...the same old Hollow Blach.

-Don't call me that! – Albert cried, hopping up from his bed. – Don't you call me by that name!

He jumped towards Fras and hung over her, last traces of civilized demeanor melted from his face: red with fury and embarrassment, his face was screwed, his lips shaking and his eyes widely opened…

Those eyes already had radiant embers flickering in them.

-I don't have to ask nicely.

-Don't make me laugh. – Fras calmly replied, looking him in the eye. – It was me who made those Mystic Eyes, or have you forgotten already? Do you honestly believe I'd give you something that could seriously harm me?

-You gave me the Sphere! – Albert roared. – You deciphered those manuscripts for me! You found that book! By your help I could find the way to embrace the Mark of Cain!

-Which won't help you against me. – Fras smiled. – You are, indeed, overflowing with power and yes, the walls you hide behind are more than secure. But I know your every secret, Albert. I know just as well that with all the power at your disposal you won't be able to kill me. At least, not completely. And I won't lay a finger on you, so your monstrous seal will not awaken. So make me a favor, pull it together and get back to your bed. Or you'll fall in my eyes even further…

The fire in Blach's eyes died. He stood like that for a minute, then, wobbled back, slouched his back and slowly walked to the opposite wall.

-Good boy. – Fras clapped her hands. – I'll buy you a balloon if you behave yourself.

-What… what did he ever have that I don't? – Albert groaned, grabbing his head. – What? Tell me!

-Shusan had my respect. And he respected me back. He showed me that not everyone of you lot are finished from birth… But you'll never be anything like him.

-But he's dead! You said so yourself! Why do you keep clinging to him?

-I didn't expect you to understand.

-Fras, listen…

-No, no, no. Whatever you say, I don't care. – She crossed her legs and reached for the papers again. – Those diaries, on the other hand…

-I'm no longer hollow! – Albert groaned.

-Quiet, please. I can't concentrate on reading.

-Fras… you know I got everything you asked for from the Tomb… I thought now we…

Albert's companion said nothing, turning the first worn page in a slow, deliberate gesture.

-Come over here.

Blach limped to her chair, choking on his tears and powerless rage.

-The weather is awful. My boots are all dirty. – Fras swayed her foot a little. – Clean them for me.

Making a suffocated sniffle, Blach fell to his knees.

-Your tongue will be better suited for this, then your usual blabber and I'll use this time to check what me and my teacher got wrong in our recipes. – Hiding her smile behind a paper sheet, Fras focused on the calligraphic symbols. – My, who would guess! He did manage to leave Constantinople before April… now that was a far-sighted move on his part, wasn't it?

Albert was understandably silent.

* * *

Epnord's tale was finished before Freri could finish the bottle, but Candle wasn't keen on getting himself wasted. There are times for both business and leisure, but right now it was clearly former, rather than later. Besides, after being told the story of the Trio, Lann felt that losing the edge now might cost him dearly – at least while their mansion is occupied by that gorgeous, yet disturbing persona. If Riar was to be believed, his former employers were very respectable people in comparison to her.

Lann left the sullen apostle to his drinks and loitered around the house, checking doors and windows for the last time. It's three hour past midnight and he can't close his eyes… besides he can rest during the day: his companion's peculiar properties make him unfit for travelling during the day.

-Oh, I was looking for you!

Freri took a sharp turnaround and once again, his gaze stuck to the dangerous visitor. She was standing on the stairs, holding some kind of a box under her arm. Her face glowed with delight.

-I didn't introduce myself earlier. – She said, anticipating Candle's question. – I was weary after the journey, but it doesn't excuse lack of basic decency. Fras Lutt, the Magenta.

-Magenta? – Asked the half-blood, who was actually interested in something completely different. – Is it your…

-The Association's color rank. The color itself may not be the most noble one, according to their tables, but I still like it so you won't offend me by mentioning it. But you look like you want to ask me something, am I right?

_Yeah, about your tattoo, for example. About whether or not it is true, what they say about mages, who wore one like this… _

-I… - Freri tried to break the eye-contact, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. – They called me Candle.

_Why did you tell her that? _

-How original. – Fras came downstairs. – Albert won't partake in our supper, he is a little unwell. He'll be fine by the morning, so let's leave him alone for now.

-I wasn't going to bother him anyway.

-Wonderful. I take it you've already examined the building?

-I did. Everything is fine.

-Wonderful. – Fras repeated. – I'll leave your funny little crew tomorrow morning, as there is a certain business in Norway I have to participate in. It can't wait and I'm afraid they won't manage without me.

-Is it something serious?

-That's a long story… but I can tell if you are interested. In your room.

-My room? – The half-blood was taken aback.

-Is something wrong? Don't be afraid, I won't eat you. – Fras came closer and continued with the same carefree tone. – When I feel like eating you, you'll be the first one to know.

-I… I'll go grab a bottle. – Candle quickly understood what was expected of him.

-Of course, Freri. – She changed her tone to a more intimate one in the most natural way possible. – Of course.

_And I almost believed you, bloody freak…_

-Here I come. – Lann exhaled, returning with another bottle from Riar's stash and a couple of wineglasses. – Here, just a moment…

-You are still nervous. – Noted Fras, letting him lead her down the corridor. – All for naught. Make yourself at home.

-Right, just like at home. In all honesty, I thought you'd stay with Blach.

-I saw his diagnostic results back in the Wandering Tomb.

-So what did they say?

-It's not just his Circuits that don't work.

Candle's rasped laughter drowned out the rest.

* * *

Albert Blach watched the pair walking away from him, clenching his fists so tightly his nails drew blood from his palms.

_Filth, what a putrid filth you are…_

_Stinking hybrid, one-eyed bastard, you just wait, give only some time… _

_You will burn. Burn and scream. It won't be quick, that I can promise… _

_I'll use you to the fullest._

_And then I'll rip you apart. Tear you like a rag. _

Thoughts of violence and pictures of slaughtered Candle raced through Albert's mind, bringing him a superficial comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

_Wait Freri, just you wait…_

Thoughts were plentiful. And as long as he thought about pleasant things, his pain subsided. He sighed and went to brush his teeth.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 "Church is fooled once again…"**

_Stand your ground against the storm_

_And hail the crucified_

_Ein, zwei, Amen and attack!_

(Powerwolf - Amen &amp; Attack).

Cold. God, was it cold here.

Here – in the middle of nowhere, on an endless white waste open to the seven winds.

The body barely responded. Blackened fingers slowly crawled forward, trying to move the snow aside, but it kept falling and falling from the sky to no end…

So cold.

At least it doesn't hurt any more. It doesn't hurt at all.

Except that there's something strange with his right hand now…

It takes inhuman effort to even look at it.

He sees that _that thing _is still clinging to his flesh.

He screams…

-Renier, are you alright? – A gentle push wakes him up.

-Yes, Whisper. – Shard turned around only to see his companions looking back at him bug-eyed as if he just suggested slaughtering every damn passenger on this plane. – Is something wrong?

-Do you even have to ask? – Torch snorted. – You moaned and mumbled over the whole plane. Our little clique was getting unnecessary attention as it was… if Whisper didn't wake you up you might have went running for the cockpit, you freaking lunatic.

-My apologies. – Quietly said Renier. – Did I say anything strange in my sleep?

-Nope, the usual stuff. – Eric scoffed. – Just "they are dead", "I have to do it" and "this door won't open".

_God, my head hurts so badly. _

Renier looked around. Nothing changed in the half an hour he was sleeping: Ascol still peacefully snored as he stretched across two seats at once. The young executor candidate – what's his name… Kirik? – he studied the mission briefing with all diligence he could muster. Others, it seems, were playing cards until he started speaking in his sleep again. The alchemist from Atlas was where Renier expected him to be too – in the far corner of the cabin, reading some book.

Owl wanted this mission to go smoothly and without a hitch. He didn't even remotely care how much it is all going to cost and spent half a day, getting the brass to provide everything he requested. As a result, "Dogma" didn't get just tickets for the first class, they got the whole first class to themselves. Renier thought it was overly excessive: even if they got on board without fanfare, their ragtag bunch was nothing like a circle of top-managers of some respectable company they were pretending to be. Still, it was the official legend and they had to play along till they get to the destination. It'll get easier after that. Much easier.

Standard job, search and destroy. Renier lost count on this type of jobs long ago since he got into the House of Slaughter. Unlike the in Assembly, he rarely got any tasks involving something besides killing. Nevertheless, it's not like he had any alternatives to chose from… knowing what he possessed, he understood there wasn't any hope for a peaceful life. Gardeston didn't doubt they already told the newbie his story – he had those eyes, full of questions, no doubt he'll soon drown Shard in them. Renier couldn't tell him the truth. He didn't know the truth himself.

-Where are you going? – Whisper startled, seeing him rise from his seat.

-Bathroom. – Renier's voice never above this murmuring. – And get something for my headache.

-Headaches bothering you? – Eric raised his head. – I'm afraid we'll have to amputate.

-Never heard that one before. – Renier remarked as he walked under the heavy red curtain that separated the business class from the rest of the cabin.

One disadvantage of flying business class was that whenever you go to the restroom you have to march through the whole cabin. And in Renier's case this meant lots of curious eyes staring at his covered right arm.

Gardeston hated curious stares. He disliked curiosity in general – for it always had a way of getting people in trouble.

Just like when he volunteered for that cursed mission back in his days as a relic hunter…

Renier took his sweet time washing his face – he splashed cold water then rubbed it for a couple of minutes, then took the cloth off his right arm and simply looked at it for five more minutes.

He just couldn't stop peer at his arm, check it, touch it now and again. All these years and he still couldn't let go of it and carry on.

A glove made of strange material like glass, covered in weird and intricate patterns, it was fused to Renier's skin. If you peered at it closely enough, you could see a few dozens of hair-thin tubes and thorns going deep into his flesh.

It was hellish task to try and ignore it, to force himself not to touch or look at it again and again. The glove was like an aching tooth, the one you just had to press once more to make sure it indeed hurts and you have to see a doctor about it. It was like a wind-burned lip, one had to lick it over and over, bite into the numb flaking skin around it…

The only more or less noticeable effect of having that glove on his arm was unusually dry skin on his right hand – that's why whenever Renier had a chance, he soaked the cloth in cold water and wrapped it around the glass-bound limb. It helped, if only for a short time. Gardeston did what he could for his arm, sighed with tiredness, swallowed three strong painkiller pills and quickly walked back – water dripped from his clothed arm.

-...and of course, templars blocked everything. Not even a mouse would slip. – One could hear Whisper spinning her yarn from a half a mile away. – Owl gave them a friendly hint that there's full moon and you don't just waltz into that mess, but those guys were dense as hell.

-So what happened then? – Kirik, obviously enthralled by the tall tale quietly asked her.

-What do you mean what happened? Bloodbath happened. It's no joke – we've counted ten Apostles, but they weren't alone, each had his entourage of ghouls…

-I remember like it happened just now. – Torch joined the talk. – It was me who walked into the village first… there was a dozen stiffs along the approach, mostly dismembered. The further I went, the more of them I saw, it was a hell of a party.

-They got the first two of them, losing fifteen grunts in the process. – Whisper sighed. – Then, they fell back, waited for the choppers to arrive and razed the sorry village to the ground. But guess what? When they went in for the clean-up the Apostles threw them out again – the bastards were entrenched so deep I'd wager even a nuke wouldn't be enough to get them. Meanwhile the clock was ticking and the Club guys slowly advanced with their regular forces. So our bucket-heads fumbled around in that dirt for about three hours more, gave up and called us in. And when it comes down to us…

-You can stop listening here. – Eric scoffed. – Now she's gonna tell you how she tore apart the whole clan of them by herself.

-Do you have any objections? – Whisper raised her brow.

-Oh I do. How about I tell a story how you got kicked in the face and flew thirty feet to the nearest pile of snow.

-It didn't stop me from slicing his throat.

-You sliced him first. Then he writhed free and sent you flying…

-Tell me another one, my foot.

-Oh I have hundreds more to tell. – Eric smiled, turning his face to Renier. – Hey, Shard, that was quick… how about you tell us how you put that Russian son of a bitch under the ice? The one who spun Whip's brain like noodles?

-No, I'll pass. – Renier screwed his face, recalling an unpleasant memory and dropped into is seat.

-Anyway, the Club had one bastard with them… The Club had lots of them actually, but that one was especially annoying. – Torch continued, not even slightly upset about Renier. – He wiped the floor with our people: the moment they approached beyond some critical distance you could consider them dead. Nothing helped against whatever he did to them.

-But how...

-He burned out their brains, damn it. – Ascol spoke. – Or something like that. We weren't exactly in a position to ask him, as you understand. If I remember right, the brass sent a group of ten against him. So they approached his position and everyone dropped to the ground two meters from his hideout, writhing in agony. Whip almost got him, but our job doesn't count "almost" as a success…

-So how did you kill him? – Kirik glanced at Renier. – If he…

-I happened to be immune to whatever he was doing. – Gardeston quickly replied, giving up on his attempt to keep out of the talk. – The rest was a technicality. He was always wearing a mask and when we tore it off he went stark raving mad.

-If I had an ugly kisser like him I'd go mad too. – Eric chuckled. – He tried to take down our Shard the same way, but such tricks don't go well against him.

_And of course he's going to ask why now…_

-And why is that?

-I possess a certain conceptual weapon. – Renier said with a sigh. – It's offensive and protective capabilities are equally impressive. But I have to ask you to stop your questions here. I'm not particularly enjoying this topic.

-You'll see it yourself. – Torch smile more and more wickedly. – When the slaughter will start. And it won't be long, that's certain.

-Did you… did you read about that Hollow? – Kirik asked.

-I saw his photo, it's usually enough. – Eric made a straight face. – I'm not keen on stuffing my head with useless trash. Most of the time I only need to know where's the target and how much ammo to take with on the job. Speaking of ammo – did they deliver our toys there already, eh, Owl?

-Yes. – Ascol answered. – Full set for everyone on the mission. We'll be supported by a local cell of Teutonic Order once on the ground. I'm not talking about the clowns from public side, of course. They requested back-up said they need one more day to block off the remaining ways out of the city.

-What about the Blach mansion?

-The Raving's already pulled all the strings we need. They'll cover up that case very soon. Everyone who is involved in the investigation answers to one of our men one way or another. We've got everything under control.

-So we'll have to come and…

-Come and inspect the scene, for starters. The police was ordered to tread lightly, but I'm sure the place's got covered in their muddy footprints. In any case, we have our work laid out for us. As soon as the full blockade is set up, we establish our operation and start the hunt, just as planned.

-No, Owl, not exactly as planned. – Renier shook his head. – It seems we underestimated him. To think that he could single-handedly slay a whole family of magi…

-If it was indeed single-handedly.

-I strongly doubt anyone would want to help him. – Torch noted. – He's a psycho. I feel it in my gut.

-Birds of a feather, right. – Whisper said. – I bet your story would eclipse everything we've heard tonight, shame it's yet to be told.

-What's there to tell? I'm a war veteran hero, everyone knows that much.

-But you didn't forget what was your brass going to do to you because of that heroism, did you?

-Fuck them all. – Eric barked with irritation. – Hope they choke on all the ranks they stripped from me. Fuck it. I have a new life now, got it?

-Tell me something new. Oh, do you remember how…

Coss watched the Dogma fighters bicker and squabble, while making every effort to appear reading a book – some cheap novel he bought in the airport. At the same time he thought through the info that his commanders sent him, while his gaze wandered from once face to another.

Katt Ascol, the Owl. A true nightmare of the magi ilk… at least that's what they said about this man. But nowadays he was not dangerous because of his strength, weapons or some special moves but because of the colossal experience he had in his bloody field. Sly, shifty, dishonorable bastard who managed to put down the Leningrad Сlub and countless other threats, which mushroomed in the second half of the twentieth century. This old alcoholic managed to stay the number one threat simply because everything hanged on him in this organization.

Rosaria Leno, the Whisper. She was the Owl's right hand. At first glance she is nothing but dumb paid muscle, however she's good at keeping her wits about her. Monstrous physical strength and resiliency. Dozens of successful fights with Dead Apostles, hundreds of injuries. She's a hulking mass of scars. A former terrorist, according to the informant. Has been sentenced to death in three separate countries. Took refuge in Church, went through plastic surgery, was subjected to experimental performance-enhancing drugs and was running ragged ever since. It's an old story and the one we are familiar with, but something's not quite right about it. In her youth she didn't even try to hide her relationship with her commander. Now, however, she keeps her distance from Ascol, but her obviously relies on him more than anyone else in the group. Getting rid of the Owl should significantly lower her threat potential, since brawn is useless without brain.

Eric Gray, the Torch. A butcher, castigator and a psychopath – his personality didn't change since when he was in US military force. Dropped any pretense of humanity during the Vietcong campaign. After the defense of some strategically important village he rewarded his troops with a day of unbidden marauding, violence and murders. Assisted in testing the latest chemical warfare agents, increasing his personal kill-count up to two hundred, including over sixty civilian casualties. By his orders about fifty captured war prisoners were used as mannequins during a bayonet drill. Of course, nothing was proven in court-martial in the end. Unfortunately for Gray, when he murdered a soldier in a fit of rage over disobedience of orders the witnesses happened to take notice. He escaped from the country, most likely with the assistance of his old contacts from CIA. Aggressive, merciless, a real barbarian hiding behind that relaxed smile of his. Extremely proficient with a wide array of modern weaponry, he is surrounded with rumors regarding his supernatural luck. One has to hope they are only rumors. His sadistic streak took a turn for the worse in the service of Church. Excellent performance both in solitary operations and as a member of a team, he was mostly used in the acts of intimidation and demonstrative executions. Threat number two following the Owl.

Renier Gardeston, the Shard. A former relic hunter in service of the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament. Is in possession of a powerful conceptual weapon. He acquired his artifact during a failed Assembly operation in some ancient city. Further details are classified. Three years of rehabilitation, learning to walk and speak again. Has a quiet, calm and reasonable personality. No bad habits, no disreputable ties. Too perfect to be true. A loner, almost never seen smiling. Carefully hides his PTSD. The only alternative he had to the service in Dogma squad was execution. Threat level needs further assessment.

Kirik Brunillio, an executor candidate. Young and naïve, zero field experience. Made it past the filter only because of his magic circuitry and notable abilities in spiritual healing. His past and family need further investigation. Completely unprepared for operations such as this one, his threat level approaches negative values.

All of the safety precautions were taken even before the flight. It was all done in a single day, of which Coss was particularly proud. Well, almost all precautions.

Katt Ascol got his dose along with his drink – Coss made sure to include his special sauce in every bottle that was delivered to Owl's apartment. He had absolutely no doubt the old drunkard would try and trick his alcohol-devouring virus.

Rosaria Leno shook hands with him – a transparent film on his palm carried five clear droplets. More than enough, even for a monster like her.

A small mosquito bit Eric Gray in the neck – he squashed it without even paying attention to why such an insect appeared here during a wrong season. The loss of a mosquito was regrettable as they usually took more than a week to prepare and fill with an agent of choice.

Renier Gardeston had a cup of coffee this morning before takeoff. He had no idea that a little white paper bag might contain something besides sugar and emptied it into his drink.

Four people out of five were already carrying one of the two necessary components. Coss was going to turn his attention to the greenhorn as soon as possible. He wasn't expecting any problems with a snot like him anyway…

* * *

The hall was, without a doubt, huge. Or at least it seemed so. And if such a tiny patch, torn from the darkness by the three humming luminescent lamps contained so much, one could only guess what an arsenal waited for him further in the dark.

The one they couldn't see – it wasn't even permitted by the superiors. Nevertheless, even what they were allowed to access was more than enough for Ascol – he couldn't help but grin, imagining the face of the current _Ordenstrappier_ when he sanctioned the Dogma squad to come and plunder their warehouses, what a grimace must he have screwed upon receiving the messages from the Raving, containing polite "suppliances" for him to provide any help requested by the agents of the House of Slaughter. How furious must have been other members of the brass when they received the Vatican letters, covered in dreadful official seals almost to the point of redundancy. The letters that informed them of the role they and their troops are going to play in the Hollow's capture. The trained fighters were to merely to cover the retreats and support executioners. The soldiers themselves, most likely, felt exactly opposite in regards to that role – at least they are going to be far and relatively safe from the mad magus. And according to the briefing sheets they all got, that magus somehow ascended to a level of an Apostle Ancestor.

Ascol approached a large iron box, took off the black band and two fresh seals – and finally raised the lid.

Well, here it is, a standard package, just as he ordered. Ascol unsealed the bag with the Black Key hilts and noted that there were even more of them than he hoped. Katt followed through to the next item on the list – a spare sidearm, probably won't hurt to bring that one along. Next was a new executor's suit. Now that was something to enjoy: even if the Assembly enchanters were lazy with their protection charms, the basic armor plates beneath the fabric should provide a careful person with all the protection he needs. And the best of it was that now he could at last discard the old and ragged cowl he was wearing all these years. For now Katt examined a small metal box – it seems like the brass was generous enough to even allot another "sacred" piece of cloth. Well, actually it was bearing just a high-grade enchantment, woven into it by the Assembly mages, but wise people didn't speak about it aloud.

_My, my, would you look at that, the Raving actually cares about me… _

-Help yourselves, people; today's a hundred-percent discount! – Eric opened another large crate with a triumphant cry. – Owl, hey, Owl? We can take whatever we want, right?

-Within reason. – Ascol sighed. – You are going to pillage the whole warehouse again?

-Well, not all of it of course, but… Whisper, move aside, I wanted that gun! – Gray snatched a brand-new AUG A1 from a crate and reached out for another one to get a machine gun based on FN FAL. – I think I'll take this one too.

-And that's exactly why they don't like letting us into military supply depots. – Said Whisper with a tired sigh. – Damn it, if they messed up my order again I swear I'll bury them.

-What could they mess up?

-The kid on the phone verified my sizing ten times in a row, thought he misheard me. To hell with them. – She took a couple steps away from everybody else and gripped a hilt – a moment later there was a hefty mace in her hand. – Now that's better. Nice thing. I understand you are settling for the usual set, aren't you, Renier?

-I am. – Gardeston examined a small pistol on his palm, as if seeing it for the first time in his life, paying no attention to the fuss with the crates. – My weapon is always with me.

-I'll have your share then. – Eric grinned as he took a smaller crate. – Well I'll be damned! They actually sent that thing!

Kirik, who took only a pistol and a dozen Key hilts, cautiously approached Torch to see what made him so happy.

-Good old Willy Pete. – Gray stroke the crate. – Have you ever seen the wounded ignite and burn alive on the surgical table? Oh, that's a sight to behold. Wait, where are the frag grenades? I need a reserve of those. Oh and before I forget…

-Owl, stop him before he demands a truck to haul his guns. – Whisper rolled her eyes.

-It's futile. Let him have his fun. – Ascol finally wrestled the tiny box open. – I was wrong it seems. There's some little medallion here…

-Ah, these ones were recently mass-produced. – Whisper took a glance at the trinket. – Single-use piece of trash. It's supposed to create a barrier upon activation, but twice as often it just leaves you out cold. Better throw it away.

-Like hell I'm going to pass up on free supplies. – Ascol sighed, watching Eric unwrap a worn flamethrower. – By the God, what is this thing even doing here?

-Don't know, don't care, it's mine now. – Gray took a pair of gas masks from the crate and tried on the armor vests. – After all my Mister Holocaust sunk in that god-forsaken swamp. I believe this boy will make a fine replacement.

-Kirik, are you sure you've got everything? – Ascol gave the candidate a hard glance, seeing him going in circles. – Are you asleep there or what?

-No, I just… I just wondered why would we ever need this much…

-Because we don't have an idea of what we are going up against. Because sometimes even this much weaponry is not enough or we don't have time to use it. In that case we'll have to go melee.

-Oh yes. – Torch laughed. – All those torn bellies, rolling heads, bodies cut in half… It hs it's moments but it's nowhere near as fun as flame. Or gas. Do you know the joy of killing with the gas? My, nothing else makes such a clean kill…

-Stop trying to scare him. – Whisper was getting mad already. – Can't have him die before the mission.

-May I… a question, sir? – Kirik mumbled after a pause. – Why is that… that mage from the Atlas is not with us?

-Well, first nobody in the command would ever let him anywhere near this place and second he said he's got a special weapon for the mission. – Ascol said, dropping the medallion in his pocket. – And knowing those Atlas people… pray he won't use it.

How are we going to search for the Hollow? – Kirik couldn't help but ask another question.

-Dear Lord, what did they even teach you anything? A standard procedure for occurrences such as this one. Our Teutonic friends have blocked every escape route and are performing a joint operation with the police, running around with their tongues lolling out, looking for our guy. Every bit of information is being checked, every possible lead is followed, every witness interrogated. You can't even imagine the number of people involved in this operation. The city is long since under our surveillance and the net gets tighter by the minute. And since we still haven't found him, he's either laying low or my guess is actually true.

-What are you talking about?

-I believe he doesn't want to hide. Oh no, what he wants is to lure us out into the open and start a fight, have his revenge. A revenge on me. – Katt smirked. – That, or he wouldn't try and get the Vaticans attention.

-Do you think he might attack us himself?

-Indeed, if only he knew where to look for us. But the way it goes, however… I could bet my favorite lighter he's going to let us know where we can play with him very soon. And we aren't going to disappoint him, are we?

* * *

The Blach mansion – what was left of it – was still blocked off. Truth be told, the number of police cars beside the crime scene has been decreasing dramatically ever since Albert left it – now there were but two. As for the people, who were on duty inside them, they were only part-time police officers – and only for disguise, allowing them to always be in the center of action and keep their _real _boss informed about the crimes with a supernatural side to them. Lieutenant Ziebel was in a bad mood today. He greeted the Slaughterhouse executors with a glum look on his face, having no desire at all to report to them. Especially considering their reputation. They were but a clique of fanatical maniacs, ever self-righteous, ever believing in their infallibility and always covered by the Vatican cardinals, no matter what crimes they commit. The old executioner, called the Owl by his colleagues, shook his hand, took off his hood and said in a hoarse voice:

-Where are the bodies?

-In the morgue, where else? What's left of them anyway. – Ziebel answered, trying not to look the executioner in the eyes. – One of them was literally disemboweled…

-Which one? – The second hood hid a woman's face. – Let's get inside already.

-Of course, of course… – Ziebel tore down the police line, hanging across the breach in the wall and let the executors into the mansion. – Even though the bodies were heavily damaged, there weren't any difficulties with the identification. Irma Blach was decapitated, her son Caspar… well we were finding pieces of his body all across the second floor… as for the head of the family… seems like he was drowned in acid or something. But no acid I know of could do…

-I expect a full report. – Ascol stopped near the blood-smeared wall and took another glance at the tracks on the floor. – Did he ram the building?

-He did. The surveillance cameras caught sight of a heavily damaged truck the same night and then we found it in a canal…

-Even the Hollow is smart enough to leave the wheels… – Katt approached the stairway and looked up. – And if he didn't arrive in the city on it, the truck must have been bought here. We should check the local chop shops. Have to begin somewhere.

-We are checking everywhere. – Ziebel sighed. – We're dead on our legs already. There's no way to manipulate the mundane police into running in circles like this and stay covert…

-It's not like we have any choice in the matter. – Ascol ordered his crew to show faces with a gesture. – You have an hour. I don't care what will you do or where, but I need two or three solid leads within an hour. Clock's ticking.

-Wonderful. – Eric grumbled. – I came here to kick ass, not sift through the dirt. Owl, you are…

-I'll listen to your concerns later. When you'll have something important to show me. – He turned to Ziebel and pointed at the door. – You can return to your car and continue with the surveillance.

-But…

-You weren't allowed to touch anything here precisely because of this. Because the brass was waiting for us to arrive. We have our methods to get results. Now that we are here you are free to go… so let's not waste our time so that everyone stays satisfied with their job, are we clear? – Ziebel acknowledged the threatening notes in the executor's voice. – For your own safety.

-Fine, fine. – Lieutenant backed off. – I'll call you if anything comes up.

Upstairs it looked even worse than on the first floor. Burnt carpets, blood-splattered walls, bits and pieces of medieval armor suits, torn and broken portraits laying on the floor…

Ascol walked into what must have been the Blach family office and looked at the wall, where he saw yet another message, written in blood – in huge scrawled letters.

-Church is fooled once again, Albert Blach, your endless pain. – Renier read the message in his usual quiet voice, as he entered the room a minute after Ascol. – He doesn't have any problems with self-esteem, does he?

-Remember the Lutri case in ninety eighty-four? This little bluster is nowhere near the megalomania that old bloke had. Besides, for someone who couldn't light a candle with magic a couple months ago, his achievements are mind-blowing.

-I'm surprised they managed to get you to come back, Owl. – Renier pulled out a drawer and searched through the papers. – You still haven't told us where you were hiding.

-The Assembly sent me away to Cavaillon, so that I don't attract any undue attention.

_Six years hugging a bottle… Six __years__…_

-And how did you fare here without me?

-Well… we had a hard time when Whisper assumed command of the squad. With all respect to her combat skills, she simply couldn't cope with the responsibilities of her new role. Still, it's not like we had anyone better. Eric loses his head quickly, way too quickly.

-And what about you? – Ascol smirked.

-Even riskier with me at the lead. – Shard pulled out the next drawer. – I can't be fully trusted.

-How much time passed…

-It doesn't matter, Owl. I still haven't remembered anything about what happened to me back then, in the mountains. And how I got this cursed glass glove. And until I remember, I can't even trust myself.

-You've saved our asses more than once. Everyone's used to having you around and no one thinks you might just go stark raving mad on a moment's notice.

-No one but me. – Renier walked around the bookshelf, picked up some empty glass vial, checked it's label and took a whiff. – Well, that's surprising.

-What do you have there?

-Can't ever forget this smell. One of the strongest painkillers, often used during the closing phases of the Crest transplantation. Quite an expensive drug, I have to say. And now let's recall what did our herr polizei tell us…

-Dismembered pieces of Capar Blach were found all across the second floor. – Said Ascol, lost in thought. – Besides, judging by the trails, he was most likely operated in the room nearby. I bet he was also alive at the time.

-Albert tried to transplant himself a family Crest. A dangerous task, but he succeeded, or else we'd see one more corpse here. However it doesn't give us much to go on, Owl.

-I wouldn't say so. – Ascol took the vial ad turned in around. – You do remember what young mages get stuffed with during the preparations for the receiving ritual and also for a while after it? Lowers the risk of rejection.

-Herbal tinctures with bonemeal. It's also recommended to use the bones of… – Renier fell silent, finally understanding. – So you think that's why he remains in the city?

-He could flee before we could fully block off the city. Nevertheless, we have to check this lead. Call the lieutenant.

Lieutenant Ziebel walked into the office, even more sullen than usual, trying to avert his eyes from the aftermath of carnage. The old executor has already managed to empty the contents of the table, cabinet and two lockers on the floor and turned to face the lieutenant.

-We need you to make a couple requests for us.

-What kind of requests?

-I need to know how long did the Blach family live in this city. And if the last few generations also lived here, I need to know which graveyard their remains can be found in.

-But why do you?...

-And as soon as you find one, send you men there. There is a possibility that Albert had to rake over some old bones. And make it quick. – Ascol said, leaving the puzzled lieutenant with Shard as he went out to the next room.

The room where Caspar Blach was murdered.

-Nice to see you here, father Katt.

Ascol froze at the doorstep, barely keeping his hand away from the Key hilt in his pocket.

-Coss. – He hissed with anger. – I think I ordered you to stay in the car.

-And what exactly am I going to get that way? Nothing. I have a vicious boss and he wants me in the thick of the investigation. – The alchemist opened the window, letting the cold air inside.

-And I want your ugly face to show up as rarely as possible.

-Are you still upset about that little pinprick? Let's put it behind us, shall we? – Coss lifted his hands. – Julian told me to fix you up so that's what I did. The effects will fade in half a year, and you'll be able to drown yourself in your favorite booze again. Believe me, I know how hard it feels for you right now, I'm not the one to pass up on a drink myself.

-I thought you prefer drugs.

-Oh, I use anything that makes me feel good. – Coss laughed. – That's the main reason they prefer to keep me away from the academy itself. My moral standing is not good enough for them. I personally, think that it's nobody's business what do I drink, how often do I take off, when and who do I fuck. Me, or anybody else for that matter. After all, our life is so short, why spend it following all those rotten dogmas?

Ascol didn't answer, he only walked around the room and studied the scattered pieces of furniture and personal effects.

-A question, if I may, father Katt. Are you really the same Owl, who orchestrated the Leningrad Club's demise?

-I was only the one to carry out the judgment, nothing more. And I'd prefer not to discuss it, especially with you.

-So you are still angry. – Coss grinned again. – Let me say it again: I've got nothing against you. What's more, I don't hold grudges against anybody, even if someone contradicts my goals. I have a simple outlook on life – we do what we gotta do, it's just business, nothing more. If you do your work well, people appreciate you. If not – well, you might get your ass kicked. But everything else just gets in the way. And I'm not a religious type if you wonder that. Oh, I know what you think – "if he's an agent of Atlas from Middle-East, he has to be an insane muslim to boot", am I right? Well, here's some good news for you: I don't give a damn about any of the existing…

-It'd be some really good news if you were to get out of my sight in next two minutes. Because my fists ache to be intimately introduced to that ugly face of yours ever since Cavaillon. Maybe get rid of your damn grin.

-Alright, alright! – Coss backed off to the doors, laughing. – I'll go talk to your second in command; maybe she'll prove a friendlier sort.

-I'm not going to scrape your guts from the walls. – Katt muttered. – You've been warned, you hear?

When the door closed behind the alchemist, Ascol closed the window and sat down in a nearby chair.

_You want to meet us, Albert, oh you do. You've prepared for us as best you could, I'm sure of it. _

_Where, where are you waiting for us? _

The door banged against the wall – not the first time today.

-How did you know? – Ziebel began at the doorstep.

-If you chase magi as long as I do… so what did you find? – Ascol rose from the chair.

-There was a report yesterday evening. I don't know how our agents missed it.

-A report you say.

-There was a break-in in the tomb. No stone left unturned. Your Blach really did visit the graveyard. He also got himself another vehicle. And we got ourselves a live witness.

-We're moving out. Immediately.

* * *

The encirclement slowly narrowed down. The road into a sparse wood near the city suburbs was safely blocked while the forest itself was forced to stay awake. Birds and animals alike tried to hide or get away as the knights made their way, clanging their armor and trying to maintain formations.

The back executor's car, followed by a couple of police vans, was speeding at the top of its engine's power, however small it was. Eric pressed the rickety bucket of bolts to its limit.

-Someday you'll get us all killed, seriously. – Whisper opened the window, trying to get rid of the cigarette smoke.

Ascol took the fourth one from his pack in a row. The payoff was close. So very, very close.

Upon arrival at the graveyard they met a guard, who was, by that time, thoroughly brainwashed. He tipped them off about a suspicious vehicle – another old truck. The matching of the vehicle id with the surveillance recordings took half a day, but it pays off in the end. In the evening they got two separate sightings of this truck within the last four days. It was on the course out of the city, but the highway was blocked by the knights as well as police officers for a long time now and that truck had no way of passing through the roadblock unnoticed. Ascol was sure of it. The Teutonics immediately called an Assembly agent, who in his turn, unleashed a bunch of weak familiars to search through the woods – and after a few hours of nervous waiting they finally got the results.

It was a success. The truck they were looking for was found deep in the forest, near an old two-storey cottage. A single command lets the troops off the leash.

Dozens of fighters dart off from their positions, each of them follows the plan to the letter. Their perfectly coordinated actions leave even Ascol a bit surprised.

The plan was standard, even trivial. All of them were through this kind of exercises countless times. The knights block off the territory while the executors go in for the kill. The blockade is then lifted and the evidence is cleared. The end.

Or at least it's supposed to be like this on paper. As Ascol understood a long time ago, nothing ever goes exactly as planned, no matter how intimidating the official seals and signatures on those plans may look.

When it comes down to reality, such operations often go awry, especially when they were cooked up in a great hurry, like now. Still, it could be worse.

-Dogma, come in. This is captain Trota, – The cracking of the radio on the control panel woke Ascol from his thoughts. – We have them surrounded.

-Any reaction? – Katt wheezes back into the radio.

-Zero. The windows are lit, but everything is quiet both inside and outside the house. Nobody tried to escape yet. Should we send our men to scout ahead?

-Negative. Continue observation, we will go in within next five minutes. Over.

Ascol tossed the radio back and turned to others.

-We're approaching.

-Business as usual? – Renier asked, as he slowly took the cloth off his right hand.

-As usual. Go in, mop up and get out. Eric, you are going to cover us. I repeat, cover us, and not blow up the whole fucking woods because some birdie looked at you funny.

And here is the turn they need, the one where there were already people waiting near the roadblock. The executors were to stop there, check their equipment one last time and then the house was only a couple of minutes away.

Three minutes left.

The rain was beating against the glass. Black trees swayed their branches under the force of the wind. The radio crack with somebody's swearing, somebody's orders and somebody's prayers. Everything merges into a mad, unintelligible chorus where no one could understand anyone but himself.

-...number three, motion spotted. Negative, it's just…

-...two minutes to destination, captain. Ready in two…

-...and then, o Lord, let the radiance be yours alone and nothing of mine to be there…

-...one minute to destination. Ready in one…

-...let me praise your holy name, let me and all beside me bask in your holy light…

-...we're going in! Go, go, go!

-... Yours with not words, but my deeds, the strength in my accomplishments…

Heavy boots stomp across the dirt, hands in thick gloves brush aside the wet branches.

-I'm in position, Owl. – The voice from a tightly fit earpiece almost makes his head burst from all the static. – Ready to move on your mark.

The building is straight ahead. A bleak gray double-decker. The windows are boarded up, but some light trickles through. There is someone alive there. Oh yes there is.

The last glimpse back. Somewhere in the dark among the bushes Eric unfolds his deadly machine. The reinforcements wait even further back – Whisper, Kirik and that damn Atlas agent. He was still completely unarmed, everything he had was some retorts and beakers, which were promptly splashed across the footpath. All questions as to why he did that were ignored. Renier brushed aside the wet hair from his face and shuddered a bit. His glass glove begins glimmering with a quiet ringing of countless little chimes. The glass rapidly loses its transparency, along with the patterns. Thin glassy threads start crawling up his arm, intertwining and covering more and more of his body.

Ascol feels a short flash of pain, but right now he doesn't even flinch. A moment later each of his hands holds a blade.

-Go.

They dash out of cover and run towards the building. One of them whispers old prayers meant as formulas, completing the prepared rites. The other one cringes in pain as the glassy shell covers his body, right over the clothes. Renier's right hand now sprouts monstrous shining claws, which keep on growing.

The house was some ten meters ahead when the radio crackled again.

-Dogma, we are under attack!

A moment to comprehend that simple fact…

…immediately followed by an explosion.

Some rubble flew past him as he dodged sideways into the dirt and threw his pair of Keys into the smoke, praying to hit something. His fingers immediately grasped next set of hilts, weaving deadly blades from thin air.

-Damn! Dogma…

-...everywhere...

-...this is Trota! We've got undead! Hordes of th…

_What? _

_What __the __hell__? _

_Then again… they are a family of necromancers…_

-...crawling from underground as if on command! I…

-Attention, the perimeter is under attack! The encroachment is… – Voices drown each other out, not only on the radio channel, but all across the forest now too. Screams and gunshots fill the air.

The smoke up ahead slowly dissipates. Dazzling bright light flows from a fresh hole in the side of the house, making the man, standing there, perfectly visible.

The blonde man in a wrinkled bathrobe raises his hands and screams at the top of his lungs.

-Father Ascol! You were so punctual, to not even miss your own funeral!

-Are you ready, Renier? – Katt hissed through his teeth.

-As always. – The creature, sealed in the glass armor responds in a dull voice. His face is impossible to see at this point.

-Eric? – Ascol picks up the radio.

-Yes. If he moves a meter to the left, I'll take him down.

-Did you want to see me, Hollow? – Ascol screamed back. – Are you satisfied now?

Albert Blach roars with hatred, lowers his hands and a wall of fire rushed towards Ascol.

Just a meter to the left, as Eric told him.

Two Keys fly straight to the target, followed by another pair. All took less than five seconds.

The moment last Key leaves his hand, Eric's machine gun starts blazing, while Renier dashes forward with an unfathomable speed for a human, even not taking his massive armor suit into consideration.

A blinding flash – the first pair of Keys reach their target, piercing his shoulders and throwing him back, letting the rest of them to skewer Blach's stomach. Or so it should have been. Instead, they pop in the air with a thunderous clap.

In the same instant searing pain throws Ascol back into the dirt.

_What the…_

The volley from a machinegun likewise disappears before it could rip him to shreds. Ascol tries to rise, but his arms are slippery with dirt and blood – his blood. Where did it all come from? Oh, right… he was wounded. His hands slide along his clothes and soak up even more of the crimson juices.

The pinpoint surgical strikes which should have crucified the Hollow on the nearest wall, instead were somehow inflicted upon himself. The absurd, impossible irony of the situation makes his head spin.

_What__…_

_How __did __he__..._

Somewhere near Torch shrieks – as if his body is torn up by dozens of bullets.

Then comes the horrible understanding that it was exactly what happened to him.

_A __simple __barrier__._

_No. It's nowhere near simple. _

And if the Keys aimed at Hollow's chest were to strike their target…

Ascol would have been ripped to shreds.

Somehow he managed to raise on his knees and elbows, to cover the most dangerous wound with his palm. Then, he fell back into the dirt, splashing numerous dirty droplets into the air. He muttered old words, hoping to close at least the worst lacerations.

-Mighty, eternal Lord, you are the endless salvation of those who have faith in you… hear our prayers for the ailing and show them your mercy and your comfort…

It hurts. It hurts so badly. He wasn't in this much pain ever since that bitch carved all his back and plucked a few toes with huge pincers...

Somewhere ahead of him Renier and Hollow fight as if in milky fog. Never stopping to chant his precious words, Katt waits to see Blach's body eviscerated by the shining claws, just like so many bodies before that.

But it doesn't.

Renier is thrown back right after he made his swift attack. Shattered glass sprays everywhere.

It was the glass, which was completely impervious to any attempts of the Assembly specialists to melt, cut of break it. Ascol remembered that nothing left a scratch on it…

_What he has done to himself… _

He could hear Eric moan and swear as he called backup. Knights screams filled the channels and every minute of those screams sapped his spirit…

-...in the trees! He's in the trees!

-...damn, nine o'clock!

-...an Apostle! We've got an Apostle, requesting immediate…

-...what in…

Renier lies in the dirt, his glassy armor gradually crumbles away. Albert Blach runs to Ascol straight through the dirt, laughing hysterically as his feet splash the mud.

-A Hollow, you say? A Hollow? Hollow, right?

As Katt mutters the third prayer in a row – this one should give him strength to raise and fight – he look Albert in the eye.

-Take that! This is for "Hollow"! You took everything from me! Everything! I hate you! – The firestorm will consume him in a few seconds.

He has no fight left. Almost. But it's not enough even to finish the prayer.

A short phrase awakens the tiny medallion, the one Whisper told him to throw away. Turns out it was for a reason.

A click.

His body shivers.

The fire dies down as it clashes against an invisible wall, but the next instant his head flashes with pain. Then everything drowns in the black void.

_Church is fooled once again..._

_Albert Blach, your endless pain..._

* * *

Albert's heart was pounding in his chest. He was tired of running already, but the highway was still a fair way ahead. Of course, he could make quick work of anyone who dared to chase him, but…

His strength was oozed away. The Sphere, despite all its power, couldn't sustain him indefinitely.

In fact, he probably should feed it sooner better than later…

Trying not to think about it, Blach searched for something pleasant to concentrate on. Let's take that fucking Ascol's death, for example. He died by himself, probably messed up a spell or something. Just shuddered for a moment and died, falling face first into the mud.

Good riddance… that scumbag.

Albert hopped over a fallen tree and continued on his way…

Or at least he wanted to, but suddenly found himself sunken into the earth up to his knees.

Or was is even earth?

It wasn't. Not even close.

Something gray, viscous, incredibly sticky…

He fell prey to panic immediately. As he tried to free his feet, he only sunk deeper – and when he started flailing around, trying to find solid ground, he immediately sunk to his waist.

-I wouldn't recommend flailing about. – A tall man stepped from behind a tree and graciously leaped on a rock. – Dusky skin, sly eyes, and a disgusting smug grin. – You might sink all the way down to the bottom, Hollow.

-I'm not hollow! – Blach howled. – Not hollow! You can't kill me!

-It's not what I intend to do. – Coss searched his pockets and took a small vial. – Atlas needs you alive. I think they will even dissect you alive...

-I believe it is you who is going to get dissected. – Candle stepped into the light, covered in blood from head to toe, smiling wickedly. – Atlas, you say? You people never knew how to fight.

-You must have never seen our operatives in action. – Coss never stopped trying to scare his foes with more and more sinister grins. – But you can be proud of yourself. You got their – _mine_ attention now.

Coss dropped the vial and tore a piece of cloth from his belt – unveiling thin steel strips underneath. Two seconds later he had a very peculiar weapon in his hands, the one Freri never saw before in his life: it was an odd-looking tangle of razor-sharp metal ribbons. Not quite a whip, nor a sword, it also served the alchemist as a belt…

-The fuck is this?

Without bothering to answer, Coss lashed out with his ribbons.

Half-blood dodged the first one, slipped away from the second ribbon, but all the others found their target. The whiplash sent him to the ground, splattering blood. His right arm was seeping blood from multiple cuts, clearly unable to hold a knife any more.

-Now I'll finish you off, – Coss was lashing out again when a gunshot interrupted him.

-No you won't. – Epnord left his cover, keeping the alchemist at gunpoint. He was dirty and bloodied, his eyes so deeply red one could barely notice the pupils in there. – Freri, Albert, the hell are you doing? Can't leave you to fend for yourselves for a minute…

-Get me out of here, you dumbshits! – Blach wailed. – Hurry, damn you!

-I wouldn't recommend that. – Coss noted. – He belongs to Atlas.

A gunshot and another whiplash were made simultaneously.

Almost simultaneously.

-Well there you go. – Alchemist said.

Epnord examined the stump of his arm, as well as the part of it lying on the ground. It pressed the trigger at the same moment it was cut off.

-You... – Riar could barely contain his rage and pain. – Do you even know how long it takes to grow another one, you motherfucker?

-Now let us even the odds. – Whisper made her way through the thick growth, swaying her bloodied mace playfully. – Those undead of yours... rotten work I say.

Albert was one step away from hysteria. The situation was getting from bad to worse: if his companions won't get him out of this cursed bog, even Mark of Cain isn't going to save him from what's coming next…

-Your Ascol is dead! – Albert cried at the top of his lungs, as he saw the tall woman, who once tried to catch him. – I left him to die in the mud!

As soon as her face reflected the realization, Blach knew he was spot on.

-Stop! – Coss roared. – Our goal is Hollow!

-So take care of him. I'm going to save Katt.

Before the alchemist had any chance to answer, she dashed forward. Candle leapt out of her way the instant before she would have smashed him, he didn't even have time to pick up his trusty knife.

-Dumb bitch! – Coss spat on the stones in rage. – Why nobody ever listens to me?

-Don't you worry, we are all ears. – Epnord took a small hatchet from his sash with the remaining hand. – Candle, get Blach out of here and look for a car. Don't wait for me.

-I wasn't going to. – Half-blood laughed, as he darted in to save Albert. – Grab my hand, come on!

-I think I told you, he is the property of the Atlas. – Coss repeated tiredly. – Thieves usually get their hands cut off, but in your case I think it'll be decapitation…

-Are you done talking? – Riar growled, as he threw himself forward.

Albert grabbed the bloodied, maimed Candle's limb, who screamed with pain, but didn't let go, only pulled with redoubled strength. For a moment there Blach thought he saw Freri's eyes get a little hazy, but they got normal in a second.

Steel ribbons slashed Epnord all over again – he didn't ever try to dodge them. After all, what is pain when you are a Dead Apostle…

With great effort the alchemist managed to miss the hatchet aimed at his face, but in return Epnord knocked him off his feet with all his weight. Without wasting any time, Riar quickly pinned him to the ground and aimed to tear the alchemist's throat with his teeth. Instead, Coss poked him in the eyes as hard as he could and the momentarily blinded Apostle howled and rolled off the alchemist, getting dangerously close to the sandpit which nearly swallowed Blach a minute ago. Coss looked around, searching for Albert and Candle, but they were nowhere to be seen.

-That dumb, dumb bitch… – The alchemist repeated himself. – All my work wasted because of her.

Riar slowly rose from the blood-covered earth. One of his eyes was already back in place, while the other was still regenerating from a wet bloody pulp.

-One more dance, red-eyes? – Coss wheezed, picking up his odd weapon.

-My work is done here. – Epnord growled, as he turned around and bolted into the woods with all his remaining strength.

The sharp ribbons whiffed behind his back, but the Apostle was too far for them to reach…

* * *

It was so hard to open his eyes. Bright white light was so painful, almost as if lacerating. It was maddeningly familiar: the light, the color of the ceiling and the beeping of the medical hardware – those three are the same no matter which hospital he got into.

When Ascol finally got his bearings, he tried to raise from the bed, but was immediately thrown back by the searing pain in his back.

-Don't move, Katt. – A sad and tired voice made him turn his head, searching for its origin.

Whisper was sitting next to a wall, holding a small book in her hands.

-Best if you don't try to get up yet. You've been in intensive care for about a whole day, being stuffed with some alchemical shit.

-I...

Fireworks of pain exploded behind his eyes. Katt pressed his head against the pillow and said in hoarse voice:

-The squad...

-Everyone is alive. – Whisper responded quickly. – Thanks to our greenhorn. He tore Eric from death's grasp… you too, for that matter.

-Renier?

-Somehow he recovered without assistance. Had a couple of deep wounds, but well… you better ask him yourself. That was something to see.

-I don't remember a damn. – Ascol moaned, trying not to sound as miserable as he was feeling. – How did everything go? How could he best us?

-You are the mage killer, not me. I've no idea. – Whisper sighed. Damn it! We took the bait like children!

-It's my fault. I thought he was a blockhead, uneducated, powerless… hollow. But he still got us…

-You are right, he was waiting for us. And he wasn't alone. There was a mediocre Apostle and some quick fucker with him. They had undead buried all across the forest. When the knights encircled the building, those undead rose from the ground and in turn encircled the knights.

-I remember tha… he had some weird monstrously powerful shield…

-Indeed. Renier, Eric and the surviving knights all reported that any attempt to attack him caused the attacker himself to be heavily wounded or killed outright. Eric got the same wounds as if his bullets all turned around and came back at him… if he were to hold the trigger just a little longer, he'd be torn apart.

-And what about the rookie and that… Coss?

-First thing Kirik did - he got to Torch. I though he's a spineless worm, but you should have seen him.

-What…what did he do?

-Alone, running through the ghoul-infested forest, once he heard someone needs help, he didn't ever stop. He brought Eric back from the brink of death.

-And me…

-I brought you to him. – Whisper laughed sadly. – You always either fall out of the window, or into the river or crawl into some dirt and try to die. And who else would save you but me?

-Th..thanks. – Wheezed Katt.

-It's not like I could let you die there before you apologize for all you've done to me. And as for Coss, well, that dick from Atlas made himself a damn hero. He almost caught Hollow, and almost cut that Apostle along with the gray-haired fucker…

-Almost, almost, almost… do we have any results?

-None, Katt. Mission failed. Hollow and his companions skipped town, Julian is furious same with the Teutonic commanders who got their ranks culled in a bloodbath by our fabulous trio.

-Terrific. How long I've been out cold? Just don't tell me it's been a week.

-Two days.

-Dear lord… – Ascol fell silent as he stared at the blank white ceiling. – It's been a while since we got our asses kicked this hard.

-Yeah. Ever since the "Blizzard". Worst thing is – Hollow seems pretty sure he killed you off for good. He won't try and bait us into attacking him.

-We'll just have to find and attack him ourselves. I'll rip out his guts personally.

-How are you going to do that? Of course, our reports are analyzed as we speak and soon we might know what kind of barrier we are dealing with, but during that time he's free to saw all kinds of chaos...

-I have an idea. A lousy one, but seems it's the only way to go. – Katt screwed his face. – Give me my phone book, be so kind.

-And just who are you going to call? – Whisper was surprised.

-It was the Wandering Tomb where Albert Blach got his damn barrier, right? Thankfully, I have an old contact, who has good ties to the Sea of Astray. Sometimes he "shares" their secrets.

-Is he a mage?

-Indeed. He's a pain in the ass, but I saved him and now it's time to pay the debts…

Ascol got his worn note book and nervously looked through the pages.

-What's his name?

-Neidhard von Weitl.


End file.
